Pocket Monsters 2005
by It's The Dee
Summary: As the world is rocked by war, seven old friends & enemies reunite for the first time in five years to rebuild bonds, heal wounds, and struggle to at last put a stop to the fighting. Featuring Ash, Misty, Brock, Tracey, Gary, Jessie, and James.
1. Meetings

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Pokemon Universe, otherwise I'd be on a beach somewhere sipping Cristal out of a diamond-studded goblet while a shirtless John Krasinski handfed me grapes. (I'm just saying. I would be.) The story is mine, as are a few original characters who show up later.

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and violence.

**Author's Note (6/22/08): **Confused as to why this story is back in the "updates" pages? Not half as confused as I am. There's a longer author's note explaining why at the end of this chapter. For those of you who've read this before, feel free to skim ahead. For those of you who haven't… well, I just hope you enjoy this seven-year old favorite of mine.

* * *

**Pocket Monsters 2005**

**Chapter One: Meetings  
**An icy wind whipped through the trees of the dark forest. A single human walked swiftly down the path, using the moon for light. She had the slightest bit of a limp, slowing her progress just a hair. The young woman pulled the hood tighter around her frail body, looking from side to side nervously. One hand held firmly to a dagger, the other kept her cloak in place. She shivered involuntarily, glancing with alert blue eyes at the foreboding trees surrounding her. Viridian forest was a dangerous place at night, especially to a woman traveling alone.

As if reading her thoughts, a shadowy figure stepped out from behind a nearby tree, slowly followed by two others.

"Well, who could this be?" the first one sneered, strolling up casually to the lone woman. "You shouldn't be walking this path alone, little lady, or you might find yourself in a world of trouble."

"Get out of my way," she ordered. "I don't have time for this."

He held out a hand to grab her by the coat. "Aw, that's too bad, sugar. 'Cause I got all the time you could want, and the next couple minutes are gonna be spent making sure you don't get out of here with money."

"Hand everything over and you won't get hurt," another of the trio told her, licking his blade. "Much."

"Let go of me, scumbag," the woman hissed, readying her knife to stab him.

"Scumbag?" He slapped her. "Some people don't have any respect, do they? Oh, and if you were planning on using this," he pulled her hand up, revealing the weapon, "you're outta luck." In one quick movement he wrenched the dagger from her hand, throwing it on the path. "Now, about that money..."

She kicked him squarely in the groin, forcing him to let go of her. "I don't have any, and even if I did I wouldn't turn it over to someone like you."

"You're gonna die for that!" the other two growled, advancing on her.

The young woman looked around. Her knife was too far away to grab, and these men were faster than she could ever run. _'At least I can give them a fight,'_ she thought, raising her fists defensively. _'And I sure as hell won't let them get me to the ground. I'll die before I _ever _let them ra…'_

Her thought was snapped off as a soft hiss echoed from the nearby trees and one of the two thieves fell to the ground, dead.

"Theo?" the second squeaked. He didn't have much time to think about it, for he soon joined his friend.

"God, I hate bandits."

A cloaked man stepped out of the forest, holding a laser-gun in one hand.

The leader of the group, who had now recovered from his fall, backed away from the man with the weapon. He smirked. "Sure, you're tough with one of those babies by your side, but how would you be in a hand-to-hand fight?"

"Want to test me?"

The thief never answered. The woman, having gotten her knife back, cut him down from behind, spitting out blood from when he'd hit her.

"Not very sporting of you, stabbing him in the back," the strange man commented.

"He shouldn't have pissed me off," she replied. She cleaned the dagger off in the grass, not taking her eyes off the new man for an instant. "I'm Anita Lockheart. And you are?"

He looked away. "I have a camp off the road a ways. If you need a place to stay for the night..." His eyes moved back down to hers. He held out a hand to help her up.

She took it, noting that her new acquaintance had the most dazzling emerald eyes. They were blank and cold, so cold that they almost made her pull her hand away again, but there was something familiar in them, too. It made her want to trust him. "Thank you. I think I'll take the offer." She peered closer, but couldn't make out any more features under the hood.

Once she was up, he took his hand from hers and began to head towards camp. "Coming?"

She nodded, trotting off after him.

xxx

The stranger handed her a bowl of soup. "It's not much, but it's good."

Anita pulled her hood back, revealing red hair tied up in a bun. A thin burn scar on her right cheek was the only thing to mar her otherwise lovely appearance. "I, uh, wanted to thank you... for saving me back there."

"It was nothing," he told her, voice calm and even. "Bandits are scum; they deserve whatever they get."

He pulled back his hood; a head of lavender hair tied into a ponytail brought another wave of nostalgia to Anita. She shook it off and forced a grim smile. "Can't argue with that, I guess."

Remembering a loaf of bread she had in her bag, the young woman went over to fetch it. As she bent over, her savior's voice asked, "So, Jessie, you're going by Anita these days?"

The woman's eyes widened and a soft gasp sneaked out of her throat, betraying her surprise for only a second. She forced herself back to composure, back to that tough surety. "Now _there's_ a name I haven't heard in a long time." Jessie's face broke into a thin smile as she turned to face the man on the other side of the campfire. "James Morgan. I knew you looked familiar, but after so long I couldn't be sure."

"It's been five years," he said.

"Feels like twenty."

"I can relate."

"What are you doing out here?" Jessie asked.

He shrugged, not meeting her gaze. "Looking for someone. You?"

"On my way to Pewter. I need to find a job to get some money, then move on to the next town."

"Works hard to find these days, though. Ever since the war began."

Jessie chuckled humorlessly. "This damned war. What a mess." She sat back on her heels. "So, what are you going by now? Obviously James Morgan would be a little difficult to keep."

He nodded. "I earned the name Jake Carol. Though, some know me better as Silent Death."

Jessie's eyes widened. "The famous bounty hunter. That's you?" A nod. "You're a first class assassin."

"You've heard of me." He said it more as a statement than a question.

"Who hasn't?" She smiled dryly. "That would explain the high-tech laser gun. Not really the career I would have seen you in."

"You play the cards your dealt." He paused again, poking at the fire thoughtfully. "I thought you were dead. When the building went up in flames, I was so sure... and when Cassidy came out and said you were..."

"Cassidy says a lot of things. That's what got her killed in the first place." Jessie tried to meet his eyes, but couldn't seem to do it. "When I woke up, and heard that you'd run off, I thought that... I assumed you'd been killed, too."

"I was. James Morgan died the day he found out his best friend was gone." He, too, couldn't meet her eyes. "I'm Jake Carol, now. I told you that."

"I guess we're in the same boat, then, though I hope you don't mind me calling you by a dead man's name," came the wry reply. Jessie took a breath and forced herself to meet his gaze. After another careful second, he did the same. "Now," she said with businesslike calm, "what are you really doing here, and so close to me? I seriously doubt the two of us just happened to be walking the same path at the same time."

"Always the observant one. No, it wasn't a coincidence that I happened to be nearby," he said, still sounding completely emotionless. "In reality," his green eyes flashed, "I'm here to kill you."

"Kill me?" Jessie's eyes widened only a fraction. "Why would someone want to kill me?"

"I don't ask my employers for reasons. But, they wanted Anita Lockheart dead, and they hired the best of the best to do it." He put a hand on his gun. "The only reason I helped you back there was because I knew you were 'Anita' and I wanted you for myself. Not the good guy anymore, am I?"

"There _are_ no good guys, not these days," she told him. "So, you going to kill me, or not?"

"Don't you want to get away? I could give you that."

"Why? So you can track me down and shoot me before I know I'm dead? I'm not into that. I prefer a face-to-face death. No, it'd be in my best interests to die now, rather than later." Jessie leaned back, keeping her eyes on his. "It's nothing personal; I know it's your job and I won't hold it against you." She watched as he picked up the weapon. "I've heard those new lasers don't hurt if you use them right, and from what I saw you do back with those bandits you can wield a gun. Fire away."

He held it to her head, a few inches away from her forehead. "You'd do it to me, if it was your job," he said.

"Most likely."

There was a pause, as the two looked each other in the eyes, trying to read the other one's thoughts. James' finger tightened on the trigger. Jessie closed her eyes, knowing it would be over soon and then she wouldn't have a care in the world anymore. And besides, there were worse ways to go, weren't there? She heard the soft sound of the gun going off, a blast of hot air by her face, then nothing. She opened her eyes, looking to see what had happened.

"But I'm not you," James said quietly in that calm, even tone. "Call me weak, but I can't will myself to shoot you."

She followed his eyes to the patch of ground near her. The laser had made a one-by-one-foot sizzling crater in the ground. _'That could have been me,'_ Jessie thought. "James—"

The assassin got up and walked to the edge of the camp, looking into the forest. "You should get some sleep. It's late, and we'll be getting up early."

Jessie knew she should say something - a thank you, a good night, anything - but nothing would come out. She simply crawled into her sleeping bag and tried to fall asleep.

James stood at the edge of the clearing for some time, watching the trees rustle in the autumn wind. He thought back to that fateful day, so many years ago...

_"James, where do you tink yer goin'?" Meowth questioned._

_He turned, a deep pain in his eyes. "I'm leaving. I can't stand fighting in this damned war any longer."_

_"You can't do dat! Dey'll send someone after you! An' you know what happens to deserters."_

_"I don't care," he said flatly. "I've seen more people die in the last two months then I've seen in my entire life. And, now Jessie's one of them..."_

_"Yer a dead man walkin' if ya leave here," the cat argued. "No one's evah escaped dis place an' come to a nice end. You know it as well as I do."_

_"It wouldn't be so bad, really," he thought aloud. "At least I wouldn't have to worry about it any longer. And, I'd see Jessie again."_

_Meowth shook his head sadly. "Yer lettin' yer heart do all da thinkin' for ya. Dat's gonna get ya killed someday, Jim. Caring'll be da death of ya..."_

"Caring will kill me," he mused. "Yeah. I'd like to know where that so-called 'kind' person went to."

xxx

A young man, still in his early twenties though with the soft, careworn eyes of one much older, ran a hand through his spiky black hair and gazed out at Viridian Forest. He titled his head towards the inner city as the clock in the bell-tower chimed noon.

"Oh joy," he said sarcastically. "Only two hours to go." He sighed and pushed himself off the wall of the fort. "Well, time to report." He put a silver whistle to his lips and let out one shrill blast, indicating the all-clear sign. It was always clear from that direction, these days.

"How did I get stuck with this nowhere job?" he asked himself, leaning heavily against the ramparts. "Whatever happened to the aspiring breeder who was gonna get hitched to the cutest girl in the world?"

_'The war happened,'_ he thought. The growing tensions between the major powers, the hostilities from the more unstable, developing countries, and finally the assassination of the Almanese dictator and the subsequent collapse of the resource-rich nation had just been too much for the world to handle. Someone launched a surprise attack, then someone retaliated, then all their allies sprung forward out of combined duty, fear, and greed. Bombs fell like raindrops. Cities and governments collapsed. And still, the war went on. The young man tried to remember the complete death toll up to this point. Half the world's population? Three-fourths? Something like that, anyway.

He looked back at Pewter City, smiling slightly. He was proud of his hometown, despite being stuck there. They'd fared a lot better than most of the cities in Kanto, and they were the only one to think of building a wall around the remaining part of the city. Past the wall, on the far side, was the destroyed area of Pewter, where they had been attacked. A crumbling gym, three dead siblings, and the only home he had known for a time still sat there. The thought made him frown, and he turned away from the inner fort to attend again to his boring duty.

"Brock! Hey, Brock!"

Brock Harrison turned around to see who was calling him. A teenaged girl bearing the same unruly black hair and slanted eyes staggered up the steep wall steps, carrying a bag. "Oh, hey Frita. What's up?"

"Celia told me to bring you lunch. It's nothing fancy, just a sandwich or something, but it'll hold you over." She held it out to him with a smile. "Only two more hours, right?"

Brock nodded. "Yeah, but it'll seem like twenty by the time I'm done."

"Every day feels like a year, it's so boring. I almost wish they'd start school up again," Frita commented. "Too bad they can't get any teachers. Everyone's put to work 'cause of the war and stuff." The younger girl paused. "Brock, d'you think this'll ever be over? Pewter hasn't been attacked in a while, but there's no treaty yet, and Cerulean just got bombed a little while ago. The rest of Nomekop still blames this on Alman, don't they?"

"That's right."

Frita thought for a moment. "It was sort of their fault, but I don't see why we have to keep attacking. It just racks up more deaths. If I were the president of one of those big world-powerful countries, I'd try to knock some sense into everyone's heads. If they got off their fat butts for a change and took a look around, they'd see nothing good is coming of this, you know what I mean?"

Brock didn't like to talk about it. It brought back some painful memories he preferred to forget. "Hey, you should stop worrying about it, Frita. You're too young to have to bother with something like this. Where'd you hear all that, anyway?"

"Celia usually keeps the TV turned to world news, since it's about the only channel that still works. I watch it once in a while - it sorta helps the day go by a little faster." She stood to leave. "You want me to stay, keep you company?"

"Nah, that's all right. Say 'hi' to the others for me, okay?" He looked back towards the forest, then asked, "How's Kris doing?"

"Oh, Kris." Frita's half-smile dropped. "He's, um, no better, but no worse. You think that's a good sign?"

"Maybe."

She shifted nervously. "Um, Brock? You know a lot about taking care of stuff. Is Kris gonna last a little longer, before…?"

"I hope so."

"If only we could get some of that medicine..." she whispered to herself, then glanced back to her older brother. "Brock, why'd Quiana have to launch that virus here? Kanto never did anything to them."

"If I knew, I'd tell you."

Frita's fists bunched up. "I hate them. They oughta get blown up, sky high, just like they did to Johto. It's their stupid virus' fault Kris is sick, and, well... Dad, and Eric and Millie, are..." She couldn't finish it.

Brock knelt down, so he was eye level with his sister. "You shouldn't wish that. I know that what they did was bad, but you have to understand that they're in a desperate spot too, just like we are. The whole world is. Wishing ill on someone is one of the reasons this war hasn't ended. People keep trying to blame others, and those people get hurt, then their allies bomb the country who began it, and it never ends." He stood up. "Now, you better head home, or Celia'll get worried. Okay?"

"Yeah, all right." She wiped a sleeve across her eyes, where tears for her younger brother had started to form. "You know, it's too bad we don't have people like you running the world. Things'd be a whole lot better, wouldn't they?"

Brock looked away. "I'll see you in a little while. Tell Celia it's my night to cook."

He listened as she trotted off down the steps towards home. Brock sighed for nearly the fourth time that hour. "I could just get up, pack a bag, and leave. So why don't I?" He stared in the direction of his family's small apartment. "Hm. I wonder."

xxx

A tall, male form stood on a high cliff atop Mount Silver, overlooking the charred land of Johto. His height and narrowed eyes marked him as an adult, yet his lanky limbs and softened chin betrayed his real age, told that he hovered somewhere uncertainly between a boy and a man. His messy black hair fell in a mop across his head, swept back along with his League cape in the icy wind. He was alone save for a small, yellow rodent that sat perched on his shoulder, looking on with intelligent eyes.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he said sarcastically. "Just like Pallet looks, and Cerulean, and most of the rest of Kanto. At least we know we aren't the only ones who lost family."

The electric mouse, a Pikachu by name, set a cheek to his owner's, the gruff squeak of his name rumbling softly from his mouth.

The wind picked up again, sending a chill down the youth's spine. "We ought to go back inside. It looks like a storm's about to hit."

They turned, the black cape which marked the boy as League Champ sweeping out behind him. He entered a dim cave, lighting a fire wordlessly until it was blazing brightly. The wind blew across the curtain separating the cave from the outside, but he made sure to tie it down tightly so nothing could come in.

He looked across the fire, where a girl only a couple years older than himself slept quietly. He was silent about his tasks, not wanting to wake her. Even so, one eye opened slightly when the wind whistled past.

"How long was I sleeping?"

"Only a few hours. I let you rest. You need it, after all that."

She nodded, brushing strands of shoulder-length, orange hair out of her face. "I'm so glad you found me back there. I was so far gone, that if you hadn't, I don't know if I would've..."

"Don't talk about it," he advised. "We've both gone through that, but it's okay, now."

"Oh, yeah, it's fine," she spat. "It's only that our entire families are dead, and—"

"I thought I said not to talk about it," he snapped.

She was silent for a moment, gazing into the flames in something of a trance. "I don't see why we _shouldn't_ talk about it. It's all very real, and it's happening all around us. Hiding up on this mountain won't do either of us any good, you know. You can't pretend this war's not going on."

"I can pretend anything I damn well want to!" he growled. "Look, Misty, you think you've been to hell and back? Try living through what I did."

"That's exactly it. I don't _know_ what you had to go through, and I never will until you start talking. If it's that bad, getting it off your chest will be the best thing." She turned her sad sapphire eyes to his dark brown ones. "It'll help. I know. I told you, and even though it still hurts, I'm better because of it. I've spilled my guts; don't you think you owe me the same thing?"

"I gave you food, water, a listening ear and a place to sleep. I don't owe you anything. If you want to leave tomorrow, I don't care, but I won't be coming with you. I've been traveling for a while, and I haven't seen anything but suffering. I'm sick of the human race. So, I'll be staying here, for a while," he said bitterly. "You want a sob story? Go talk to Brock."

"Brock?" Misty repeated, her eyes lighting up at the name. "I haven't written to him since Cerulean…" She trailed off, changed directions. "What makes you mention him?"

The youth pulled some fruit out of his bag. "If you've been writing to him then you probably know most of it, but half his family's dead. The attacks, and then the virus."

"Half," she said quietly. "I wonder if that means they lost Millie, too."

No answer from her friend.

"Ash, is... is everyone in Pallet dead?" she asked timidly after a moment. "On the news reports, a while back, they said there'd been some rioting, and that virus had hit somewhat hard, but after the bomb they weren't really clear on the numbers…"

At first Ash didn't say anything. Then, before he could stop himself, it all poured out in a tidal wave of anguish. "I was up on the Indigo Plateau when the bomb hit. Lance's house, at about 6 PM, eating dinner with him and his family. Funny, how you remember these things. The news report talked of devastating damage. Lance loaned me his Dragonite, and I made my way over as quickly as I could. Of course, as you know, the bomb didn't hit Pallet dead-on. It struck Cinnabar, but the nuclear activity was so strong that the sea winds carried it into Pallet. There wasn't anything I could do. Rescue crews were on the scene, hurrying everyone out as quickly as possible, but it was no good. In a few days they started dropping like flies. Do you know what it's like, watching your own mother waste away, and knowing there isn't a thing you can do about it?" He ran a hand across his eyes - it was the first time he had felt tears since the attack. "Stupid me. Of course you know. Your family..."

A hand fell gently on his own. Ash looked up. Misty was staring into his eyes, smiling weakly. "Maybe it _is_ best that we don't talk about it. You okay, now?"

"Yeah. I just... I'm fine."

Misty bit into the apple Ash had given her. "So, where's the rest of the Elite, if you're here? Are they...?"

"No. Lance got them to a safe spot, up in the mountains, where no one would ever consider bombing. That's where I'm headed, I guess." He managed a faint grin. "Prima sends her regards."

Misty let out a small chuckle. She had a thought. "Did you... have you heard from Tracey recently? I know he and Gary went off, to fight in the war..."

"A lot of people did. Lieutenant Surge, Koga, even Bugsy and Sabrina. There were some others, I'm sure. I can't remember them all."

"Any word from them?" she pried.

"Last time I got a letter from either of them was when the bomb struck Pallet. Gary was trying to come back, for his family's funeral, but they wouldn't let him go. Tracey... he said it's horrible, all the fighting, but that he didn't think the war would last much longer. Granted, he wrote that nearly a year ago..."

"So, as far as we know, they're dead."

"Yes."

"Hm. Comforting bit of news," Misty said. The wind whistled past again. "Blizzard?"

"Too early, even this high up," he answered. "Probably just a rain storm." A blast of thunder proved his point. "You can leave tomorrow, if you want."

"Ash… thanks for the help. It's probably more than I deserve. I know I haven't always been very nice to you."

He shrugged. "Call it payment for that bike I never returned."

Misty chuckled. After a few minutes, she looked up, staring intently at him. "Now tell me, why are the Elite hiding up in the mountains? They're some of the most respected members of society. Couldn't they help put an end to this stupid war?"

"Because," he took a bite from a pear, "I told them not to."

"_You_?" she gasped. "Why would you do something like that? Letting the war go on will only hurt more people like Brock, and Tracey and Gary's hopes of coming back alive get slimmer—"

"Because I don't want to see anyone else I care about die!" he said sharply. "The Elite've been like family to me ever since I won the League, and now they're the only family I've got left! Getting involved would only put their lives on the line. You know how it is - there are cult groups all over the world who are convinced that the end of the world has to come around because of this. If the Elite stepped in, they'd be assassinated in a week. The way I figure, we're going to sit this out in the middle of a mountain valley. It'll have to end, eventually."

"At the cost of what? My death, Brock's, Tracey's, Gary's and a million others? I know it's been hard for you. It's been hard for all of us. But you have to think beyond your 'family' and look at the whole world. _Three billion people_ have been killed." She took his hands in hers, looking at him pleadingly. "How could you live, knowing that you could have done something and didn't?"

He pulled away. "It wouldn't make any difference. People would still be killing each other. Maybe this is the way it's supposed to be."

"You can't mean that."

"I do." He stood up, pacing the room restlessly. "You think the Elite has all the answers? Newsflash: we don't. Who's to say that maybe this is just what's supposed to happen? Like with the ancient Pokémon. Almost everyone will be wiped out. The few left will pick up the pieces when it's all done. Start over. And hope that they don't screw it up this time."

Misty stared at him as if looking at a stranger. "Who _are_ you?" she demanded hotly. "I mean, I sometimes used to really dislike that cocky prodigy child who won the Pokemon League at twelve. But I'd rather have _him_ annoying the hell out of me than you, sitting around watching the world die."

"Yeah? You aren't exactly the mirror image of your old self either."

Misty looked down at her wrists, and at the thin line of scar tissue that marked each. She shuddered, trying not to think of her weakest moments. "I'll be leaving, tomorrow."

"Where will you go?" he asked blandly.

"Pewter. I haven't contacted Brock in months. He probably doesn't even know I'm alive. It'll be tough there, I'm sure, but I want to be with people I care about, and anything would be better than waiting around up here with you."

"Your choice. I won't stop you, but I would advise against it." Ash told her. "You'd be a lot safer up here."

"Safe isn't always the best thing. Maybe I could live out the rest of my life in a mountain paradise, but it wouldn't be a happy life. Unlike you, I still care about this world. Maybe, before it's too late, you will, too."

xxx

"Hey, easy on that arm, Erika," a brown-haired man in a pilot's uniform complained. "I gotta use that to fly, you know."

"Yeah, Gary I know," she replied teasingly, if not a bit impatiently. "And, despite my warnings, you'll be out there tomorrow, won't you?"

"Naturally. It's my sworn duty as a member of the Kanto Air Force!" he cried, raising his free fist melodramatically towards the roof. "B'sides," he added with a flippant smile, "one more plane down and I get a medal."

"Another? How many is that, now? Four, five?" she wondered.

"Six. But who's counting?" He turned serious suddenly. "How's Trace holding up? He gonna be fighting fit in a couple more weeks?"

"He was a lot better this morning. He's going to have some nasty scars, but I think he'll be all right. He managed to get out of that plane just in time." She laughed to herself. "Funny. The first thing he wanted this morning was a pen and paper."

"To write home?"

"Yes."

"Poor idiot. That's the fifth in the last two months. I bet not a single one has gone through." He patted his arm as the ex-gym leader finished the bandaging. "You think I can go in and see him?"

"I'm really not supposed to... but oh, what the heck. Go on. But you'd better make it quick."

Gary ducked under an awning and into the nearly empty hospital unit. Tracey sat in the far bed, wearing a white hospital gown. Bandages dotted his body, most prominently along his left cheek and arm. His right hand sported a thick wrap as well, and he was having a rough time getting the pen to do what he wanted.

"Need a little help?" Gary asked, standing next to the bed.

Tracey didn't look up. "Yeah. Who're we fighting again?"

"Hell if I know," Gary replied. "Last time I checked it was Yumar, but... just put that down. No one'll know the difference anyway." He waited for a minute, watching with mild amusement as Tracey tried to scribble down the country's name. "Hey, want me to do that?"

"It'd help." He handed over the notepad. "Just put down who we're fighting, and tell Ash that both of us are alive. There's not much else to say, is there?"

Gary quickly jotted down what Tracey wanted. Then, jokingly, he said, as if writing it: "I am getting a whole _ton_ of action. Man, the babes around here just love me. Gary is too busy winning metals to notice, though. He's got six already, but that's okay, because I've managed to score eight times with eight different—"

Tracey reached out and smacked him with his forearm - about the only spot that wasn't burnt. "If I wasn't stuck here I'd kick your ass."

"I'm so sure." Gary finished up the letter fast, then folded it up and stuck it in his pocket. "You really think he's gonna get this? I mean, we sent them to the Pokemon Center in Pewter, so I'd think he would go there a lot to visit Brock, but... You know, Ashy-boy might not even be alive."

"We probably would have heard," Tracey said decisively. "The Pokemon League Champ doesn't get blown up and nobody notices."

"Let's just hope our letters are even getting through the post. I heard this guerilla force was blocking the road to the mail carriers," Gary pressed.

Tracey shrugged. "It'll get through."

"Wish I had that kind of optimism. Too bad for me I'm a realist."

"You're also cocky, self-absorbed, a hopeless flirt, suicidal, and—"

"Yeah? Well you couldn't even draw a crooked line with a ruler," Gary taunted.

"I resent that! Professor Oak said—" They both grew very quiet. "Sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up."

Gary shrugged. "Eh, it's no big deal. It's been a little over a year. You come to terms with this stuff sooner or later." He flashed a grin that tried to be careless. "Besides, we're all gonna be walking that road pretty soon anyway."

"Thanks for the pep talk," Tracey muttered, rubbing his bandaged hands together nervously. "God, Gary, I'm only twenty-one. I'm not interested in getting killed out here."

"You think I am? Granted, I've been around a few years longer, but I wanna do something more than this before I die." He looked out the window of the tent, into a lush forest not yet marked with bombs and blood. "Like get married, start a family... maybe finish the legacy Grandpa never could. Dying in a flaming plane, waving the Kanto flag is a noble death, but it sure as hell ain't the way I wanna go."

There was an awkward pause, both pilots gathering their thoughts.

"Well, this has been another lovely episode of _War-Torn World_, but I think I'm gonna try and get some sleep," Tracey said after a moment. "You probably ought to do the same. You'll be flying tomorrow, right?"

"Wild Tauros couldn't keep me away." Gary gave Tracey a thumbs-up. "Medal number seven, here I come."

"Be careful out there. I don't wanna have to write an obituary tomorrow," Tracey told him.

"Hey, when have a not been? Carefulness is my middle name."

"I thought it was Samuel."

"Don't back-talk your elders," Gary joked. "Kids these days - no respect. Maybe I'll come by tomorrow evening if I get a chance. See you around."

"You know where to find me." Tracey waved a farewell to his friend, watching as the door closed shut behind him. As soon as Gary had gone, the weak smile on Tracey's face disappeared. He stared out the window at the star-streaked sky, sighing and wishing for the hundredth time he was anywhere but here. "Ash, Misty, Brock… wherever you are, I hope it's a lot better than this."

xxx

Jessie rolled over, opening her eyes halfway to adjust them to the morning light. "What time is it?"

"Not quite nine," James told her, frying what looked like an egg over the fire in a skillet. "You don't have to get up now, if you'd rather sleep."

"I'm used to being up about now," she said, sitting up and looking around. The forest, undergoing a transformation overnight, now seemed inviting and cheerful. The fall breeze played across the forest floor, stirring up leaves and causing Sentrets to dart in-and-out of the swirling mass. Jessie smiled slightly. Even through all this, there was still beauty if you knew where to look. She turned back to the bounty hunter. "I didn't know you could cook."

He shrugged. "You teach yourself over the years. It's not the best, but I manage to choke it down." He slid a piece of bread topped with fried egg in her direction. "Eat it if you want, but it probably won't taste very good."

Jessie bit into the meal testily, then, finding she liked it, ate the rest quickly, followed by more bread and a cup of coffee. "Not bad. A lot better than the crap I stir up." She looked hopefully at James, hoping to get a smile out of him. Nothing.

After he'd finished eating, he donned his grey cloak again, standing and shouldering his pack and gun. "I'll go with you as far as the edge of Viridian Forest. After that, you're on your own again."

"Nice to see you're escorting me. I gotta tell you, it'll be easier traveling through this forest with someone packing artillery. A knife can only work in so many places," Jessie said lightly, also putting on her cloak and pack. "Nice day for a stroll in the woods. Shall we, then?"

"I don't see how you can be so cheerful," James remarked as they started down the path. "Just because I'm not going to kill you doesn't mean my employer's going to give up. They'll find someone else."

"Well, you could just tell me who your employer is. Then, I could track them down and kill them," Jessie suggested.

He shook his head. "I can't do that. Revealing my employer is something I just don't do. It's breaking the code."

"Code?"

"You wouldn't understand."

They walked on in silence for a couple of hours, Jessie enjoying the scenery and James always on the alert. Jessie tried a few times to get a reaction - any reaction - out of him, but it never resulted in anything. How could someone be so emotionless? It was like he really was dead.

_'What happened to you, James?'_ she thought to herself. She'd been through some awful moments, to be sure, but nothing that had killed her spirit like this. Jessie frowned, still in deep thought when they reached the edge of the forest.

"This is where we part," he announced. "Good to see you're alive. Maybe we'll cross paths again."

Jessie watched him start to go, but began speaking before she knew what was happening. "James. I have a proposition to make."

He stopped, but didn't turn to face her. "I'm listening."

"Someone's after my life. You won't tell me who they are, but you know they won't give up. Now, I'm not going to be as lucky as I was the first time. I need someone to help me out - someone who I know could handle the job." She waited. He didn't say anything, so she took it as a sign to keep going. "Since you don't seem to have a definite job at the moment, I'm willing to give you one. I'll hire you as my bodyguard. You'll get food and a room, plus fifty dollars a week for anything else you want. If you get tired of it, you can leave, or you can stay until we kill the one behind it. Your choice."

"You told those bandits you didn't have any money. And you told _me_ you had to go to Pewter to make some cash," he reminded her.

"I lied. In reality, I got a lot of money out of being hurt-in-action. I get paid monthly, sort of like a handicapped fee." She laughed. "They decided to count my little limp, fortunately." James didn't say anything. "So, you in?"

He turned slowly to face her. "Could I ever turn you down?" There was the slightest bit of amusement in his voice - the first hint of emotion Jessie had seen in the past two days. It was a good sign.

"Great to know." She faced Pewter Fort, nothing but a silhouette in the distance right then. "I didn't lie about going to Pewter, though. I need supplies, and I heard an old 'friend' of ours is staying there."

James walked up behind her. "Lead the way."

Jessie started off, James only a few paces behind her, keeping a lookout on things. She smiled, making sure he couldn't see it. There was something oddly comforting about having him following her down a path. Jessie liked it.

xxx

Brock stared out at the road in front of him, blinking rapidly. He had to be imagining things. No one ever came to Pewter, especially not from the direction of Viridian. "I need to get my eyes checked."

But, deny it as he did, the images kept growing bigger, until he could make out two people, a man and a woman, both wearing cloaks. The man had his hood pulled up, face indistinguishable, but he could see that the woman sported a youthful face and red hair tied up in a bun. There was no pretending he was seeing things now. In a few minutes they reached the small brass side door. The man stood back a ways, carrying a deadly-looking laser gun, while the woman slammed the knocker down hard. Brock snapped out of his surprise and went down to let them in. Obviously the couple wasn't dangerous, despite the male's gun, so Brock figured after a few questions he'd allow them access.

He slid back the slit, so he could see them, but all they could see were his eyes. "Names, please."

"Anita Lockheart."

"Jacob Carol."

Brock's eyebrows raised. "The bounty hunter?" A nod. "Is your weapon charged, sir?"

"Of course," he replied simply. "I don't intend to use it on anyone inside."

"He's my bodyguard," the young woman – why did she look so familiar? – said. "Neither of us will hurt you. We're Kanto natives, and I only want room, board, and a few supplies. Can we come in?"

"Oh, sure." He slid back the bolt, opening the door wide enough to let them in and shutting it behind the two. "My name's Brock Harrison. Welcome to Pewter Fort."

"Brock Harrison?" the man repeated. He glanced to the woman at his side. "Looks like you found your old friend."

"Do I know you?" Brock asked, looking at the woman.

She laughed. "You don't remember us, do you? I guess I can see why - it's been a while, and we've changed a lot over the years." She turned to her friend. "Maybe if you pull down your hood it'll jog his memory."

He did as she said. Brock stared into two emerald eyes, framed by a head of sleek, lavender hair, then back to the woman with her red hair and clever blue eyes. They were older, to be certain – the man had filled out, still thin but with the definition of muscle that told of maturity, his tall form and long limbs 'graceful' instead of 'gangly'; and the woman's sharp features had smoothed and thinned, leaving her a shade softer around the edges, somehow prettier despite her new scar; and both, of course, shared the careworn eyes that Brock also possessed – but there was no mistaking them, not when they stood side by side like that.

Brock took an unintentional step back. "Jessie and James. But I heard that you were both…" Jessie shrugged and he shook his head, trying to clear the shock. He even managed a relieved smile, surprised at how easily it came to him. "I should've known you two would find a way to survive this thing. Even so, you're the last people I would've expected to see around here." Past and present at last collided in his head and he whirled, staring at James in disbelief. "James, does that mean that you're—?" He nodded. Brock whistled. "Jake Carol the assassin. Never would have thought it."

"Do you know of a place where we can get a roof over our heads and a good meal?" Jessie asked. "We haven't eaten lunch yet."

"Actually, there's an extra room in my family's apartment building. You could stay there if you'd like. My shift's over, so I can take you there." He paused. "But, it'd probably be in your best interests not to. The virus has sort of taken its grip on the household."

"I've had it already," Jessie said. "You can't get it twice."

James glanced around, not liking to be in the open like this. He pulled his hood back up. "I've been around a lot of people with it. I think I'm immune." He turned to Jessie. "You'll be safe here, especially if you're with friends. I know some people I should visit. I'll be back by nightfall."

"My place is at 1608, Apartment B. You'll be staying in C. Celia will have dinner ready, so you can come in and have some, if you want," Brock said. James nodded his thanks, then disappeared silently down the street. "He was acting sort of odd. I've never seen him so… blank, I guess."

"Then I'm not the only one who feels it," Jessie thought aloud. As they walked down the street, she remarked, "I'm surprised you gave us such a warm welcome. I thought, what with everything that had happened between us, you might..."

"What, call the police on you?" She nodded and he couldn't help but laugh. "For _what_? Let's be honest, Jessie – we might've thought of each other as 'enemies,' but we helped each other out just as much as we fought. And besides, it was _years_ ago. Who even remembers? Who even really _cares_?"

"You'd be surprised," she grumbled. "And besides, I'm sure you know that James deserted. They always run a list of people they're after."

He nodded. "That was a long time ago too, though. Didn't that troupe get massacred a little while after that?"

"Yes. And so did several of my closest friends, James with them," Jessie said quietly.

"I'm sorry," he said sympathetically. "I certainly know how that feels. But what do you mean by 'James with them'?"

"Oh, you saw how he was. I don't know, but, from what he said, it sounds like he started acting like that when he got the news that I'd been killed." She grinned wryly. "Ironic, isn't it, that the only members of that troupe to survive were the deserter and the one declared legally dead?"

They reached the door of Brock's home and he turned to look at her, hand on the doorknob. "You can come in, or you can go to C and I can bring a tray of food over. It can get pretty noisy, and what with Kris being sick—"

"I'll come in. I could use some human company," she said. After a moment's pause, she asked, "How many have you lost?"

"Six, including my father," he answered somewhat shakily. "Three to attackers, three to the sickness. Kris might be next."

Jessie, unsure of what else to do, followed him inside. A young woman stood behind a stove making a quick meal. Two teenagers sat around the TV, watching a news program, and another was curled up in a chair reading a book. The atmosphere was a pleasant one, though the closed door and sounds of rough coughing left an aura of sadness hanging over the apartment.

The young woman cooking and the girl reading looked up.

"A guest? Now there's a first," the cooker said. She wiped her hands off on her apron and walked over to greet Jessie. "I'm Celia. The one reading is Frita, and the two in front of the TV are Gwen and Zach." She winced at the sound of a cough in the background. "Sorry that we aren't a little more hospitable, but it's been pretty hectic. If you'd like to stay for lunch, you're welcome to."

"Hey, Brock, who's your new girlfriend?" Zach teased, finally noticing the new visitor.

"Zach, grow up," Gwen reprimanded. "Boys are impossible."

"Shut up! All you ever do is squawk about something stupid! I'm sick of listening to it."

"Then don't. Now be quiet - this is the only entertainment show we ever get, and I already missed who the culprit was."

"It's a re-run! You've seen it a million times!"

Celia smiled. "They're twins. They fight like that all the time." She headed back over to the kitchenette. "It's just some sandwiches, leftover soup, and some tea, but if you're not starving it'll hold you over."

"Brock makes the best miso soup, too," the girl reading, called Frita, piped up. "Even when it's not fresh it's still absolutely amazing!"

Jessie took her meal with the squabbling family, loving every minute of it. Never having a real family of her own as a child, it was nice to soak in the pleasant, crowded atmosphere. Brock hadn't been so unlucky, really - the group seemed cheerful and very close to one another, despite growing up parentless during such a vicious war.

While Celia and Zach were cleaning up the dishes, Brock volunteered to show Jessie around and take her to a good supplies store.

"Um, Brock?" Gwen stopped him. "Kris wanted to know if you could go in. He needs someone to talk to, and since you're the only one who really can..."

"Right." He looked to Jessie. "You don't mind?"

"No, of course not. I understand completely."

Frita immediately jumped in. "I can show you around if you'd like, Miss Smitt. There's not much to see, but if you want—"

"Call me Jessie," she corrected. "And, if it's okay with you, I'd rather just go alone. I need a little time to myself."

"Oh. Sure, definitely! Um, I guess you'll be back for dinner?" Frita asked.

"Probably. A friend of mine will be coming too," Jessie explained.

"Wow. Two people in one day! You have no idea how boring it is around here, always the same faces. Nice to see someone new for a change."

Jessie said her thanks to the family again, closing the door with some reluctance and heading down the street. She felt sorry for Brock, after losing so many from this war, but at the same time felt a pang of jealousy. He'd had it tough - the Harrison family all had - but at least they'd had each other to lean on, when things were at their worst. Neither she nor James had been so lucky.

She bought her supplies slowly, then strolled through the small fort, thinking and enjoying the change of scenery. As the sun started to set, a cloaked figure fell into step beside her.

"Nice to have you back. You missed a marvelous lunch," Jessie commented. "So, how were your assassin friends?"

"Fine," James said. "How did you know they were assassins?"

"People like to group with their own. Like, I enjoy the company of other people who have no idea what to do with their lives," Jessie told him.

"Hence why you employed me," he concluded.

She chuckled as they reached the door to Brock's apartment. "Here we are."

"I'm going to our room," James said. "If you'd bring me over something-"

Jessie whirled on him, wagging a dictatorial finger in his face. "Oh no you don't! You're coming in, and you're going to be social for once. I think it'll do you some good."

James didn't bother to argue, but just nodded and followed her wordlessly, taking in the hectic scene in a moment. Celia came up to him, sticking out a hand as she had done to Jessie. "You must be James, otherwise known as Jake Carol, otherwise known as Silent Death. Pewter's heard some stories about you, like I'm sure most places have." She turned back to help Brock in the kitchen. "Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes. The world news is just about to start, if you'd like to watch."

James and Jessie took seats on the floor next to Gwen, Zach and Frita. Faintly James heard a restless cough, immediately recognizing the source of the sound. He shot Jessie a nervous look that seemed to say,_ "Why am I here?"_

Zach looked over when he sat down. "No way. You're that assassin guy, aren't you?" James nodded and Zach's mouth dropped. "That is so cool! I'm sorry, but we hear stuff about you around town, about how good you are!" He stared at the laser gun. "Oh, wow! Oh, cool! These things are top notch! Only the best ranking generals get to carry one! How did you ever find it?"

James shrugged. "I have my ways."

"Zach, stop scaring him," Gwen snapped. "Geez, you'd think he was some big hero or something."

"But he is! He never fails! He's the very best! If this guy was fighting the war, it'd be _whack! bam!_ good-bye enemies! They wouldn't have a chance!"

"Look at that, now he's blushing. Congratulations, Zach, you managed to embarrass him. Nice first impression."

Frita, tired of the conversation, grabbed two rice balls that were sitting on the table and shoved them in the quarreling duo's mouths. "Can't you fight during a commercial? This is interesting. We just attacked Yumar."

Jessie heard an odd sound to her left. Looking over, she realized it was coming from her bodyguard. She leaned in, trying to see around the bangs that framed his face. To Jessie's amazement, James was _laughing_. It was hushed, hoarse, and broken, like he hadn't done it in years and wasn't quite sure how, but there was no doubt what it was. She smiled and leaned her shoulder against his, sharing the quiet chuckle. He wasn't completely gone yet, and Jessie was going to make sure it stayed that way.

xxx

It took Misty a minute to remember where she was. Once she had, she wished she hadn't. Rolling over, she saw Ash standing at the entrance to the cave, the cover now pulled back. The sun was shining in, and the rain glistening off the rocks had a sort of serene beauty to it.

"The storm's stopped," he pointed out needlessly. "We can leave now, if you want."

"We?" Misty repeated. "What do you mean?"

Ash kept his back to her, surveying the sun-soaked mountains on all sides. "Maybe I took what you said yesterday to heart. Maybe I just want to see some old friends again before we're all killed. At any rate, I'm going to Pewter with you."

Misty wasn't sure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. "At least you're starting to sound compassionate again. But I was hoping that you'd think of telling the Elite to help put a stop to this."

"I'm giving the human race another try," he explained. "If I decide it's worth saving, then I'll get them to help. If not—"

"You go up to your mountain haven and wait for the bombs to stop flying," Misty spat. "No, there's no change from last night. You haven't gone through some magical transformation in twelve hours."

"I could just go there now, and forget I ever met you." He turned to give her a sharp look. "Would you prefer that?"

She paled at the thought. "No. No, I'd rather have you come with me… and give the world a chance again. But if you wait too long, it won't make much difference."

"Two months. No more, no less," he said. "Get your things together, and we'll leave. There's a small town at the foot of the mountain - we can eat lunch there." He tossed her an energy bar out of his backpack. "That should hold you over for a few hours."

She considered throwing it back at his thick head, but thought better of it. "Thanks."

Shouldering their things, the duo set off down the mountain. It was tough going, what with the rain from the night before, but Ash knew the right paths and led them safely to the bottom. A small town greeted Misty warmly enough, but seemed a bit cold to the League Champion. After a small meal they started off again.

"We should reach Viridian Forest by nightfall," Ash announced. "From there, it's about a day's journey to Pewter." He gave Misty a vicious smile. "That is, unless we meet up with some bandits. They're packed in Viridian, you know."

"I'm not afraid of a couple of thugs," she assured him.

"A couple? I'm talking about gangs of twenty, who'll rob you penniless and kill you in cold blood," Ash emphasized, chuckling darkly. "See why I'm sick of people, now?"

Misty shuddered. "You have a twisted, tortured mind Ash Ketchum."

_'And yet,'_ she thought, _'I can't help but be glad to have him traveling with me.'_

xxx

Gary's plane had gone down. Tracey couldn't believe the news when Erika told him.

"When? How is he? Did they find him?" he demanded once he'd fought through his shock.

"It happened three days ago. Everyone was too busy with the injured to tell you, and besides we figured you both needed your rest."

"'You both'? Then he's alive?"

"Yes. He crash-landed in the forest, and we found him in time. He's alive. Though, after everything that happened, he may not want to be," Erika explained.

Tracey raised an eyebrow. "Why not?" She sighed and looked away, but he wasn't about to give up. "Erika, _why not_?"

"He lost a leg, Tracey," she spilled out. "From the knee down. Gone."

"Oh. God," he choked. "How…?"

"It got trapped in the wreckage. There wasn't anything else we could do. We had to cut it off if we wanted to save him." She swallowed hard and steeled herself, continuing with the news. "Normally we'd fit him with a prosthetic and send him somewhere to recuperate, but there're just no funds for that right now. So, once he's healed up a little more, they're going to send him home as he is. Though, home to where, your guess is as good as mine." Erika managed a tiny smile, though it was so faint it could almost have been Tracey's imagination. "Actually, that's the other reason I came in. I was told to tell you that they got in several new recruits. Normally, they wouldn't let someone off on some burns, but the doctors said you won't be able to move your left arm as well as you used to, and with the new pilots... you'll be going home with Gary. If you want to."

Tracey, even through the sorrow for his friend, felt his heart stick in his throat. Home. He was going home. "Is he awake yet?"

She nodded. "If you want... I suppose I could let you see him. He's back in the intensive unit. Do you think you're well enough to walk?"

Tracey ran a hand over his face, where he could feel the scar tissue. Most of the bandages had come off that morning, except for the length of his left arm, where the burns had been at their worst. "Yeah. I'm a little shaky, but... I'll be okay." He stood up, and using the wall for some support, was able to get around without much trouble.

"I'll be back up front if you need anything," she said, walking out.

He made his way to the back area, where Gary was sitting. A large bruise blossomed on his paler-than-usual cheek, and Tracey spotted several spots across his arms and collarbone sporting bandages and scrapes, but he looked surprisingly healthy for someone who had just survived a crash. He was leaning back on a mound of pillows, eyes closed, but by his breathing Tracey could tell he was awake. "Gary?"

The pilot opened his eyes, glancing over. "Looks like your wish came true, huh? We get to go back to good ol' Kanto. Can't say that I'm not happy about it, but I wouldn't have minded getting released in a more glorious way." Neither of them could seem to look down at the bandaged stump poking out between the covers. "Oh, I got that seventh medal, though, and I hear they're giving me a Crimson Band for bravery in the field, too. Not bad, eh?"

"Great," Tracey agreed. He leaned against the wall. "Glad to see you in such a good mood. I thought, what with everything…"

"Hey, this is me. I fall in a hole, I dig myself out. No use crying about it, you know. And I hear the girls love war veterans." He laughed, but his heart wasn't in it.

"So what home do we plan on going back to?" Tracey asked after a moment.

"There's only about two cities left that planes'll fly to," Gary reminded him. "Pewter and Celadon, I think."

"Pewter, then?"

He nodded. "We might as well dump ourselves off on Brock for a while."

Tracey shifted awkwardly, not sure what else to say. "So… in a few weeks?"

"That's the estimate. But see, they don't know me very well." Gary put his hands behind his head. "I figure we'll be out of here in seven days, tops. That's how long it's gonna take me to get back on my... foot." The ending fell flat. He heaved a fake yawn and rubbed at one of his eyes. "Well, all these heroics have wiped me out. I'm gonna hit the sack."

"Right. Maybe I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Maybe. See you."

Tracey limped out, resting against the wall right outside of Gary's room. As a former watcher, one skill he'd developed over the years was his ability to read things – people as well as Pokemon – with stunning accuracy. Gary could pretend all he wanted, but Tracey knew that now, on top of his family's deaths, he had his injury to deal with, and he was suffering much more than he'd ever let on. He risked a peek back into the intensive unit. Gary was turned away from him, but the young artist could tell by his shaking shoulders that he was crying silently into the sheets. His heart sank in his chest.

"When I said I wanted to go home," he whispered to no one, "I didn't mean like this."

* * *

**6/22/08**

**An Explanatory Note (Or **"**Why Fanfiction-dot-net Made Me Do It")**

I can't believe I'm actually doing this. Seven years after writing the original, five years after losing interest in the series, and three whopping years after the incidents in the story supposedly take place… and here I am, editing, and commenting, and reminiscing back on a middle school life filled with after-school sports and Pokemon battles.

So what happened? What made me open the old Word documents (that weren't even Word documents originally, but Word_pad_ files, lovingly typed away on a rusty old Windows 3.1, saved to floppy discs, and transferred to the internet via America Online's dial-up service)? Basically, we can all thank or blame fanfiction-dot-net for this. They screwed up my old scene break formatting, and I wasn't about to let even my old fanfics look ugly and unprofessional. So I took care of the one-shots in one fell swoop, then cracked my knuckles and set to work on the bigger babies – namely, this and _The Rift_. I realized that it would be a lot easier to just delete everything but the first chapter and then, using MS Word, go in and fix the scene breaks like that. Which is exactly what I started to do.

But I forgot one very important thing: I'm a crazed perfectionist who had secretly been waiting for the chance to find an excuse to go back and fix spelling errors, continuity screw-ups, and anything else in my more beloved old fanfics. I tried to ignore it, but my Creative Energy (I call him Alex) literally grabbed me by the throat and would let me think of nothing but this fanfic. I finally gave up and plunked down with both a sigh and – I'll be honest – a big, silly smile, and, well… here we are.

For the returning readers, I want to promise you that, unlike my current rewrite of _Fushigi Yuugi: The Next Chapter_, I made very few changes or additions to _Pocket Monsters 2005 _(let's call it _2k5_ for short). Although seven years have passed and many things about both my writing style _and_ view of the world have changed, this story as it is has a special place in my heart, so I decided to keep it the way it was when I first wrote it, with all its strengths and weaknesses. The characters are the same characters and the story is the same story. I even bit my tongue and kept in a bunch of my old semicolons and adverb-heavy descriptions, though it almost killed me to do it.

But here's what I _did_ do:

-I fixed all the old spelling errors. With luck I even managed to catch all the nasty "then/than"s that I seemed to have had such a hard time with back in middle school (but if anyone spots one that I missed, don't hesitate to point the Grammatical Finger of Doom at me).  
-I changed the reason for the war (Y2K? I mean, seriously, seventh-grade me. Lame). I kept things simple and admittedly vague in the edit, because I _am_ trying to keep the original feel of the story. There were some other little continuity/scientific screw-ups that I tried to iron out as well.  
-I made sure everyone's speaking patterns stayed the same from beginning to end (more slang for Gary, very proper grammar for James, etc.). Because of that, some of the lines – especially some of the lengthier "explanation monologues" later in the story – got changed around a little… or, in one case, a lot. But more on that when we get to it.  
-I tried to answer some of the questions that I left unanswered in the original, which is why there are a few new scenes and bits of dialogue (cookies for returning readers! Hooray!). Also, I was originally going to write a series of short-ish prequel stories, but I lost interest in the Pokeworld before I could finish more than three of them, so some of the additions serve sort of as "apologies" for never getting those done. I did my best to match my old writing style, so hopefully the new stuff doesn't stand out from the old stuff too badly.

And that's pretty much it. I did split some of the chapters in half because I felt they were a little too lengthy, but the chapters themselves have not really been changed. I'll also be tagging on a bunch of extra information to the end of each chapter about characters, the making-of, and so on. So think of this as the "Seventh Anniversary Edition – now with creator commentary!" Or something exciting like that. :-)

But if you _do _want the old version, it's still available – type-os and all – on my ancient Pokemon website, _Ii Kanjii_ (Where the trio of prequel stories are, incidentally, also kicking around). Drop me a PM if you can't track the site down.

Okay, that's enough chatter for this chapter. I'll come back next chapter and probably go all reminiscent on everybody. "Why, I remember the good ol' Indigo League days..." and all that. Also, I'll be answering the pressing questions that any new readers might have about timeline, character development, and the absence of such individuals as May, Dawn, and whatever that little boy with the glasses is called. Gnawing on your keyboard in excitement? Oh, I know you are.

'Till Next Time!—Dee


	2. The Gathering

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Pokemon Universe, otherwise I'd be in Japan doing exciting Japanese things (though mostly I'd be blowing my money on ridiculous-sounding candies and unnecessarily cute plush dolls). The story is mine, as are the couple of original characters.

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and violence.

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Gathering  
**"I take it we'll be leaving today," James said the next morning. In truth, it was nearly eleven and didn't count as morning, but the two had decided to take it easy that day and slept in late.

"No," came the short answer.

James threw a dark, long-sleeved shirt on over his head. "Do you mind if I ask why?"

"Not at all."

He waited a moment, then realized she literally wanted him to ask. "Why, then?"

"Because I like it here," Jessie replied. "It's safe - for the moment - calm, and even though you can still feel the pressure of war, it's not nearly as bad as it was in places like what's left of Viridian City."

"If you intend on staying here, then there really isn't any reason that I should hang around," James remarked. "You'll be safe with Brock. And, if you couldn't tell, I prefer not to stay in cities for a prolonged period of time."

"Why? Afraid someone might recognize you as James Morgan, the deserter?" Jessie asked innocently.

James stiffened. "I'd prefer if you didn't bring that up again."

"That's it, then. Well, you don't need to worry, because that troupe was killed, and so was the officer who had the price on your head," Jessie reminded him. "That was five years ago, James. No one is going to care. Brock doesn't. His family doesn't. Trust me, people have more important things to worry about than a heartbroken kid who got fed up with fighting. Like how to keep family members alive one day longer, with hardly any type of treatment."

"He's going to die, you know," James told her, knowing full well she meant Kris Harrison. "Without medicine... that virus always kills."

She nodded sadly. "Brock knows it, too, and I would bet Celia does. But there's no reason to drown the other kids' hopes."

"Better that they know now than have to experience the pain and shock later," he said flatly.

Jessie whirled on him. "I hope you don't really mean that. And if you so much as say one word to them about it—"

"I wouldn't. I'm not in the business of crushing childhood hopes." Still calm, even, and emotionless.

Jessie wanted to smack him, but didn't know how this James would react. So she just said, "There's a theatre down the street a ways. Brock said they still run a movie on Saturdays. You want to come?"

"What's playing?"

"I didn't catch a name. A comedy, I think," Jessie said. _'Not that you'll laugh,'_ she added irritably.

"I'll pass. There's some business I need to take care of," he lied. In reality the assassin just needed to take a walk, alone. "I'll see you at sunset?"

"Okay. And we'll be spending the evening at Brock's again, whether you like it or not," she ordered.

He agreed to that, said his good-byes, and headed out the door. Walking down the main street in town, James realized that he had a lot to think about. His new job. The future. Jessie. Feeling cramped within the walls of the fort, James slipped out the side door he had first come in, back out on the path to Viridian Forest. He gave the man on the wall twenty dollars to let him back in when he returned. Clutching the money greedily, the wall guard agreed without hesitation.

Now, strolling across the tree-speckled outer edge of the forest, hood down and letting the sun tan his pale skin, he still managed to keep an eye on everything he was doing while daydreaming at the same time. James heard the two voices, male and female, before he saw them. Ducking behind a tree and pulling his hood up, he waited to see if they were friends... or soon-to-be dead enemies.

"...inute out in this sun starts filling me with more hope for tomorrow. You have to admit, even with all that's been happening, the earth has still managed to stay beautiful," the female was saying.

"When people aren't dropping bombs on it," the male said coldly.

"Ash, I _know_ things have been hell," the young woman snapped, "but don't you think that, just maybe, you could try to see the good in things? You're never going to find anything worth saving if you don't look for it."

James' eyebrows shot to the top of his forehead. _'Ash? The League Champ? Could it be him?'_

"Look for it? That's like trying to find a needle in a haystack. I'm not searching for good, Misty - if it wants me to find it, then it'll have to stick its neck out."

'_Misty?'_ Now there was no doubt in James' mind. _'And,'_ he thought with mild amusement, _'it sounds like they haven't changed much. Still fighting over everything.'_

As they walked by, James silently fell into step with them. So far gone in their argument were the two that they didn't even notice the silent shadow at their side until, somewhat annoyed with their bickering, James at last spoke up, remarking to the spring air, "If I was a bandit, you'd be very dead right now."

Ash jerked back and the Pikachu on his shoulder sparked with electricity, but Misty held up a hand to keep the Pokemon at bay. "Wait. He's not going to hurt us. He would have by now." She turned towards James, who was still walking swiftly and forcing them to keep up with him. "Do you have a name?"

"I have several."

Ash eyed him. "Feel like giving us one?"

"Some people call me Jake Carol. Others, Silent Death."

Misty whistled, as Brock had done. "The Class-A Assassin."

"But, it seems recently people have begun calling me by my _real _name again." He came to an abrupt stop, pulling down his hood. "James Morgan."

"James Morgan," Misty repeated the name, her breath catching in her throat. "You mean _James_? From Team Rocket?" He nodded. "And Silent Death, too…"

Ash chuckled dryly. "Interesting career choice, Jim. Mind if I ask where your other half is?"

"Jessie's back at the fort." He looked up at the sky. "We should be going. It's nearly an hour to Pewter, and I told Jessie I'd meet up with her at sundown. I hope you don't mind a little company. We'll be eating at Brock's home."

"Brock?" Misty's face lit up with a smile. "So he's still alive. Thank goodness. How's his family doing?"

"Six are dead," James said bluntly. "One more is one the way. The virus."

Misty hit Ash hard in the ribs, saying quietly so only he could hear her, "You want to see that happen to his whole family?"

"More _people_ did that, you know," Ash told her, just as quietly.

She turned away, back to her other temporary traveling partner. He had already started walking again, forcing Misty and Ash to have to nearly jog to keep up. "Did Brock mention anything about someone writing him?"

"Not to me," James told her. "But we haven't talked much."

"Do you know if he knows if Gary and Tracey are alive?" she pried.

"Should they be?"

"I don't know," she said quietly. "It's been so long... you have to fear the worst."

"I always do. That way you'll never be disappointed."

Misty was starting to become irritated with her new acquaintance, but at this point picked him over Ash. "They're off fighting in the war, you know."

"I didn't."

"Anyway, we haven't heard anything since Pallet…" Ash coughed and looked away. Misty forced herself past the painful words and went on. "But I've tried to think the best." Not liking the eerie silence that followed, Misty went on to explain what they were doing in Pewter. James listened, but it was impossible to tell what he thought about it. "...So, Ash has lost all hope in people, and I'm trying to get him to change his mind before it's too late."

"I haven't seen anything to boost my faith yet," Ash announced from behind her.

Misty's fists bunched up and she flushed red. "He isn't even giving it a chance." She turned on James. "What about you? You aren't one of those 'to hell with the world' types too, are you?"

"Quite frankly, I don't care either way."

"How can you not care? Everyone has to have an opinion," Misty insisted.

She half-expected him to turn his answer into a joke, but he merely said, "If I didn't wake up tomorrow, I imagine I'd feel the same as I would if I did."

Flushing once more, even brighter this time, the young woman snapped, "You're exactly alike, you and Ash! Well I hope Brock and Jessie are a little more compassionate, or I might have to run out of Pewter before I lose my _mind_, surrounded by depressing people like you!"

She stomped off ahead of them, though by now they'd nearly reached the fort's doors. Ash threw back his head and laughed. James turned away, smiling slightly. Faintly he heard a noise on Ash's far side. "You may want to duck," he advised.

Unsure of what the request was for, Ash did as he said. A bullet whizzed past the spot where his head had been just seconds before.

Misty whirled at the sound of the gun going off. "What the—!"

James fired before anyone had a chance to react. Two quick laser blasts, followed shortly by the sound of two bodies hitting the earth. He slung the weapon back over his shoulder. "Bandit thugs. Probably after the League Champ. There aren't any more."

Misty waited for the two to catch up, then set off again. She and Ash exchanged looks. He may have been an enemy in the past, but James Morgan could prove to be a valuable ally in the future.

xxx

James rendezvoused with Jessie a few minutes after sunset. "Sorry I'm late, but I ran into some people."

"Anyone I know?"

James waved a hand to his right. "Most likely."

Jessie looked over as two people emerged from the evening shadows, trying to keep up with James' fast pace. She recognized the League Champion immediately, but darkness combined with time forced her to stare at his companion for several long seconds before she finally connected the young woman with the girl from all those years ago. "Well, this is a surprise. What with all that mess in Pallet and Cerulean, I didn't know if I'd ever see you two again."

"Hey, whatever killed us?" Misty managed a weak smile, but both she and Ash seemed to wince at the names of their hometowns.

"Sorry to bring it up," Jessie said.

"It's all right. Both of us keep trying to pretend it didn't happen. Hearing it out of another's mouth hurts, but helps," Misty assured her. She decided to change the subject. "James mentioned eating dinner with Brock."

Jessie nodded. "I hope you don't mind a little noise - it's a bit cramped, but the atmosphere is great."

Misty said that sounded wonderful, so Jessie quickened her pace and they soon arrived at Brock's apartment building. The two women bantered a little, but neither Ash nor James seemed too eager to join in on the conversation. It worried Jessie and Misty alike.

When Brock opened the door, he could only stand open-mouthed for several seconds, staring blankly at the pair of newcomers.

Misty's eyes sparkled. "What's the matter, Brock? Skitty got your tongue? Can't a couple old friends stop in to chat?"

"Is it really you?" he managed to gasp out.

"Who else would it be?" Ash grunted, leaning against the doorframe. "You gonna let us in or not? Misty'll probably explode if you don't."

Brock stepped back, allowing old friends and enemies alike to walk inside. Misty greeted Brock with a tight hug, even standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek and say, her voice partially choked with tears, "I'm so glad to see you."

He moved forward to return the gesture, then seemed to think better of it and pulled away, smiling back at her. "Same here, Mist. When I heard about Cerulean, I thought for sure that you…" The brightness in her face faded, and Brock shook his head, smile and voice both softening to an affectionate whisper. "Anyway, it's good to see you again. I've missed you. Both of you." He looked to Ash, but the League Champ offered him nothing more than a handshake and a brief nod. Brock's smile fell a notch, but he tried to keep cheer in his voice. "Man, it's been a while, hasn't it? You're even as tall as I am, now."

"Give me another year and I'll be taller," Ash assured him with just a spark of competitiveness in his tone.

Brock chuckled, watching as Jessie and James walked past to take seats in the living room. "And we'll _both_ still feel like midgets compared to him," he said, nodding towards the tall assassin behind them. Ash frowned, and the frown seemed to deepen as Brock reached up a hand to scratch Pikachu under the chin. "Great to see you, too. I'll make you something to eat later. I bet you've missed that."

"Agatha's cooking is good too, you know," the League Champ said bluntly, turning and moving into the living room. Pikachu stared back a little sadly at Brock and Misty before turning his attention back to his master. Ash's two old traveling companions exchanged puzzled looks, then shrugged and went to join everyone at the table, soon lost in the admiring chatter from Zach and Gwen, who couldn't believe their good luck at being able to meet the League Champion. Ash seemed to enjoy the attention, and tensions gradually fell from the table until Celia came bearing a tray of dinner plates.

"I apologize for not having more, but we didn't know we'd have two more guests tonight," Celia explained.

"It's all right," Ash said. "I'm not hungry, and from the looks of it neither is James."

The bounty hunter had refused food as politely as possible, but did take a cup of tea. He'd become incredibly fond of Brock's recipe, mentioning last night that if there _was_ a heaven then he imagined the drinks would taste something like it.

"Brock, have you heard anything from Tracey or Gary?" Misty asked after a few bites.

"Nothi… Oh!" he said, smacking his fist into his open palm. "I just remembered! I went down to the Pokemon Center the other day and Joy gave me a package of about five letters. She said they'd just gotten through a guerilla force. All of them are addressed to Ash, so she figured I could deliver them to you." He stood up, then came back with a bundle of papers. "They're a little water-damaged, but you ought to be able to make out what they say."

Ash untied the bundle slowly, Misty hurrying him along. As soon as he'd finished they each grabbed out a letter, ripping off the envelope and skimming over the writing.

"They _are_ from Tracey and Gary!" Misty cried. "When's the latest one dated?"

"Just a couple weeks ago," Ash said. "It says that Tracey got pretty beaten up in some accident, but he'll live. Gary's okay, too."

"Anything else?" Brock wondered.

He shook his head. "You can only say so much through these, you know. For security purposes."

Misty took a sip of her drink, a worried look in her eyes. "Poor Tracey. I hope they're okay. Do you think they'll ever come home?"

"Of course." Ash sent her a downright nasty look. "Alive, though, is a completely different matter."

She sucked in air, knowing he was right. Brock tried to change the subject. "So, what brings you here anyway?"

Once more Misty told the story of Ash's lost faith, and how he was going to try giving the world a second chance. "I don't really know how he expects to, though, since he's so thickheaded…" She trailed off as she looked up at Brock, blinking at the sudden change in her friend's normally relaxed demeanor. He sat across from her, gripping his teacup so tight that his knuckles were turning white, and the tiniest bit of a flush had inched up his neck. She hadn't seen him this angry in years. "Um, Brock?"

"Celia, can you take the others into your bedroom?" Brock asked tensely. "I need to have a word with Ash."

She motioned silently for the others to follow her out of the living room. They must have all sensed Brock's contained rage because they exited without complaint. Frita poked her head around the door and pulled down her eyelid at Ash, but was immediately jerked back in by Celia. As soon as the door closed, Brock spoke, keeping his voice low but unable to mask the edge in his words. "Let me get this straight," he began, looking right into his old friend's eyes. "You've lost your faith in the human race, so you've decided to just sit around, not even _trying_ to help things, until everyone dies. Is that the gist of it?"

"You catch on quick, as always," Ash agreed, meeting and holding his gaze.

"Are you _insane_?" Jessie cut in, smacking her hands into the table. "You could play a _huge_ role in ending this war, maybe save countless lives, and you won't even _try_? Heartless or monster, which title do you want?"

James quietly gripped her arm, using surprising strength to pull her down. He jerked his head towards Brock, silently saying, _"This is his battle."_

"My family," Brock said through clenched teeth, as if he hadn't heard Jessie, "is dying. Every day Kris gets worse, and someone else risks catching that damned virus. And you plan to sit back on your heels in a paradise valley and watch it happen?"

"You're welcome to come with me," Ash said lightly, finally breaking his stare to glance out the window. "You and your whole family can live with the Elite until the war ends. I offered Misty the same invitation, and," he shot a look at James, "the same goes to the man who saved my life a few hours ago. After a couple months I plan on going back there, because I really doubt that I'll see something to change my mind."

"I don't need an escape, I need a cure, dammit!" Brock's voice rose into a shout on the last words, easily loud enough for his siblings to hear. He hurriedly quieted himself, but never lost a speck of bitterness or anger, and it some ways that quiet, cold rage was ten times deadlier than any amount of yelling. "In two months your little valley plan might be too late for Kris, and one of the others might come down with the same thing. If you'd done this from day one you could have halved the world's deaths, and maybe saved Misty's family and some of my own—"

"But _mine_ would still be lying in a hole in the ground, on the outer edge of a nuclear wasteland!" Ash snapped back. He jerked up from the table, and with a sweep of his cape stormed to the front door. "I'm going to find a hotel to spend the night, since I'm obviously not welcome in _this_ home!"

The door slammed shut with a crash. Misty sighed and rubbed at her temples. "He always was stubborn and hot-headed, but somewhere along the way Ash developed a streak of real bitterness. He's been through a lot, you know. In some ways I can understand. Give him time - maybe being around people will help melt his heart a little." She leaned across the table to touch a hand to her friend's arm. "Are _you_ okay, Brock?"

He nodded stiffly, running a hand through his hair and finally easing his death grip on his cup. "Yeah, I will be. I just…"

"You just can't believe the idiocy of that little jerk," Jessie finished with a scowl.

James quietly rose from the table. "I'll go talk to him."

"You?" Jessie asked, surprised to see James showing interest in anything. "Why?"

"Simple." Jessie thought she caught the hint of a smile on his face. "I'm the only one who hasn't tried to wring his neck in the past twenty-four hours."

xxx

James caught up with the angry Champ fairly quickly, since he knew his way around a lot better. "It's not healthy to fall asleep upset," he remarked, quietly falling into step with Ash. "I've found that the best thing to do in these cases is to relax and have a drink."

"I don't need your advice," Ash growled.

"I didn't ask you to take it," he said. "I just happened to be heading to a local bar and wondered if you wanted to join me."

Ash scowled and looked across the street, but the grumble in his voice didn't seem quite as harsh now. "Fine. Lead the way."

James trotted around a corner, then entered a somewhat run-down building, a sign above reading "Carter's." Inside it was almost completely empty, save for a few older men sitting in a corner and a cloaked woman sipping a drink. The bartender looked up, waving a tired hand. A girl about Ash's age noticed the young men and immediately flew to them.

"Hiya," she greeted, smiling sweetly. "We don't see a lot of your type around here. You must be from out of town."

Ash nodded, taking a seat at the bar next to James.

"I'll have the house special," the bounty hunter said, setting some money on the table.

"The same," Ash agreed.

"Sorry kid, but I don't serve alcohol to minors," the older man told him. Ash didn't argue, but just flashed an ID card with a picture of himself, his full name, and the occupation: _League Champ_. The man's tune switched in an instant. "Oh, sorry about that Mr. Ketchum," he quickly said, filling up a couple glasses and sliding them in front of his guests. "So, what're Ketchum and Carol doing at a place like this?"

The waitress, who had been wiping down the seats for quite some time, grinned wide. "Well well, the League Champ and the famous assassin! Quite a pair!" She moved a bit closer to Ash. "We never get handsome boys like you in here these days. Mostly just the usual old drunks and a couple of passer-bys."

"Hey Tara, we flirting or we working?" the bartender asked impatiently.

"A little bit of both, I figure," she said, winking coyly at the two customers.

"Yeah, well the sooner you clean this place up the sooner we get to head out, so move it," he grumbled back.

Tara tossed her cloth onto a table, sitting down next to Ash. "Don't mind my dad. He's just a little sore 'cause we got some shady figures staying in the hotel."

Ash's ears perked up. "You own a hotel?"

"Yeah, just a little ways down the street. It's more like an apartment complex, but dad calls it the Carter Hotel 'cause it sounds classier. My dad owns most everything important around here, anymore. It makes good money, but the stress is getting to him," she chattered on, oblivious to the fact that neither seemed very interested. "But these new folks in the hotel might be the straw that breaks the doduo's back. They're some of the nastiest people you'll ever meet. Carry around some deadly weapons - like the one you got, Mr. Carol, but unlike you they look like they wouldn't hesitate to kill someone dead for smilin' at 'em wrong. Good thing they're skippin' town t'morrow, otherwise Dad might..." She glanced up as the doors clanged open and a gang of about five men and women strolled into the bar. "Speak of the devil, here they come now."

A tall man, rivaling James in height, surveyed the dingy room with a half-sneer on his lips. He counted up the bar stools - five, total - and jerked a shoulder, a silent sign for the rest to follow him. He sauntered up to the counter, waving a hand at Ash and James. "Buzz off, we've claimed these seats." He began to turn away, expecting them to listen immediately, but managed to catch a good look at James in the dim light. "Hey, everyone, look who we found! It's little Jakie, Midnight's boy-toy."

James gave them nothing but a nod. "Karl."

"That all you got to say, Rookie?" he questioned. "Not so ballsy when you don't have Midnight to hide behind, eh?"

"Did you need something, or are you just looking for a fight?"

The one called Karl called raised a fist as if to hit James, then seemed to think better of it. "Go sit somewhere else. Me and mine will be staying here, Rookie."

James started to stand, not in the least bit phased, when Ash spoke up. "Why should we? We were here first, you know."

"Who the hell are you?" one of the others snapped.

"Ash Ketchum, League Champ," he introduced smugly. "And it'd be in your best interests to find a table, because I'm not moving."

"Hey guys, ya hear that? He's the _League Champ_," one woman said sarcastically. "You think we oughta shower him in flower petals or kiss his feet with our unworthy mouths?"

"Obviously you don't know who you're dealing with, boy," Karl growled, shoving hard at Ash's shoulder and nearly knocking him out of his chair. "We happen to be about the most dangerous gang of bounty hunters this side of the equator. And if you wanna live to be fourteen you oughta get lost."

Indignant and stubborn as always, Ash flushed red and hopped off his stool, fingering a Pokeball between his fingers. At his feet, Pikachu growled a warning to the group, though they just chuckled at the threat. "I needed to get out some anger today. I might as well use you for that."

Karl and his group were just about to launch themselves on the teen when a voice from the corner stopped them. "It doesn't seem very classy for you to attack hot-headed children." It was the woman who had been sitting there since they'd arrived. Her features were indistinguishable, due to a hood similar to James', but the laser gun at her waist showed she wasn't one to be messed with.

"Midnight?" Karl queried, whirling to face the cloaked woman. A noticeable tremor had sneaked into his voice. "Y-you were here the whole time?"

"They don't call me the Midnight Shadow for nothing, you know." For a brief second Ash caught a glimpse of amber eyes that flashed angrily across the assassins. "I'll be having a little talk with you about the boy-toy comment, Karl." He winced. "Get out, all of you. You've caused enough trouble for one night." The gang scowled at her, but didn't try to argue. They left the bar in a hurry, the female assassin following a few steps behind. With her back to Ash and James, she said quietly, "And as for you, Carol, I'd keep an eye on my charge. The winds are blowing news of death, and all the currents point towards her." And, as silently as her name suggested, she was gone.

Wordlessly James tossed the bartender a couple of bills and left, Ash close on his heels.

"What was _that_ about?" Ash demanded in a baffled, breathless huff as soon as they hit the street. "Who _were_ those people?"

"Assassins. They're used to getting their way. You're lucky Midnight stepped in when she did, or you very well could have lost your life tonight."

"Midnight? Who is she, and why's she so important? And why did they keep calling you 'Rookie'? And what was with the thing about the winds blowing death?"

"You ask too many questions," was all James said. He motioned to the right. "The hotel's that way. If you'll be staying here, I suppose I'll see you around." He started off, at a stride oddly like the one used by that female assassin from before, but paused after a few feet. He didn't raise his voice or turn his head, yet somehow his soft words carried across the street as clearly as if he'd been standing right next to the League Champ. "We've all been through just as much as you have, Brock especially. Remember that the next time you decide to act like a jackass."

Ash said nothing. There wasn't anything he could think of _to_ say. He watched as the bounty hunter disappeared into the night, then turned slowly to the hotel. He was still thinking about that last comment as he fell asleep, much later into the evening.

xxx

Jessie looked up from a book she was reading as James came in. "I hate to sound like an obnoxious parent, but you were out pretty late."

"I decided to raise a little hell in the local bar," he said airily. "It happens to be a hobby of mine."

Jessie laughed. "And here I thought you didn't have a sense of humor anymore." She set down what she was reading, facing her friend as he took a seat on the edge of the couch opposite her armchair. "Anything interesting happen?"

James told Jessie the story, front to back; it was the most she'd heard him talk in the last couple days. Naturally she had a few questions to ask. "Midnight, huh? An old friend of yours?"

"I know most of the bounty hunters in Kanto," he said without really answering anything. Jessie let it slide.

"From the sound of it, you didn't make friends with all of them," she remarked.

"Karl's gang has always been like that," James told her. "They seem coldest to Midnight and myself, though."

"Any reason why?"

"Karl can never get the better of Midnight. He's been trying to kill her for years, but she always eludes him," he explained. "Midnight's the most experienced bounty hunter out there. Karl's in a close second. If he killed her, he'd be revered like something of a king by our community. He's power-hungry, that's really all there is to it."

"But why you? Done something to piss him off?" Jessie pried, hoping she wasn't going too far.

"He's been doing this for almost ten years, whereas I've only been around for a little over four. I'm still what is considered a beginner, but in a lot of ways I'm better than he'll ever be. That's where I earned the nickname Rookie," James said with a touch of bitterness. "Jealousy is a strong power, and if he had the chance he'd kill me, too."

Jessie whistled. "Tough business." She hesitated, not sure if she should ask her next question, but knew it would bother her forever unless she knew. She waited, tentative, watching as he untied his hair from its ponytail, disappeared into the bathroom, reappeared a few moments later in a pair of softer sleeping pants, and lay down on the couch. Finally, as she flicked off the light, she asked, "Say, James... why _did_ you become an assassin, anyway?"

For a moment he said nothing, and Jessie thought she'd crossed the line of questioning. Then, just when she'd decided to give up and go back to the little bedroom, he finally said, "Fortune has a twisted sense of humor." She opened her mouth to ask for more, but he cut her off with a forcefulness that she hadn't felt from him before, and she knew that there'd be no more questions for this evening. "Good night, Jessie."

"…Good night, James."

* * *

**6/27/2008**

**Author's Note: On Timelines (Or, "The Life Cycle of a Fad")**

So here's the number one way to tell that you're no longer a child: You have lived long enough to see a pop culture fad go from being The Thing that _everyone _is doing, to being the The Thing that "no one" is doing – and all the people still doing it have to do it behind closed doors or else risk the mocking of their friends – to being The Thing that is retro, old-school, and "cool." So I guess I finally knew that I was no longer a child when I saw Hot Topic selling Pokemon T-shirts about six months ago.

The weird thing about pop culture is that it can make you feel old when you're really still pretty young. Hearing things like "The first _Harry Potter_ book came out the year I was born," or "I like the classic _SNL_ episodes – you know, the ones with Will Ferrell." Twenty suddenly feels ancient and out of touch. You find yourself saying things like, "Why, I remember back when there were only 151 Pokemon! Now those were the days!" And then floating off with your friends onto dreamy clouds of reminiscence, to simpler days of Gameboy Colors and early-90s Nicktoons. Hm… I'm getting off-topic, aren't I? Let's try to rein this in a little.

The point is, I wrote this story seven years ago in the summer of 2001, which is basically an eternity in pop culture terms. In fact, by the time I was writing this, the original Pokemon phase had already died down and was entering the early stages of being "uncool." The Johto seasons had just kicked off in the US, Brock had made his glorious return, and people were starting to think that maybe Tracey "hadn't been all that bad after all, in retrospect." The series was bringing in its first new wave of Pokemon, and a lot of fans – myself included – were wondering, _'How much longer can this last?'_

Now I'm not going to sit here and rag on the new episodes, because I haven't watched them. I don't want to sound like a "Pokemon purist" or anything like that. But I will say that I lost interest in the series for a number of reasons shortly before the introduction of May, and though I do stop by at _Serebii_ or Bulbapedia on occasion to see where everyone is and what they've been up to, I don't follow the show anymore, not really. I think in a way I've given up on a true conclusion to the series as well. It felt hollow once they got rid of Misty – like they had spent 100+ episodes developing relationships and characterizations and then just tossed them out the window. I'm not sure what the directors had in mind originally, but I doubt that the current series was it. Again, not to say that the current series is bad – only that it isn't the Indigo League I used to watch.

That having been said, _2k5_ follows a storyline based entirely off of the Indigo, Orange Islands, and early Johto seasons. It would've been silly to try to "update" the edit, so I didn't even try. There are no mentions of Dawn, May, or any of the other later characters. The histories and personalities for _2k5_'s characters are based off of their Indigo canons. For example, Jessie and James have been friends since childhood; they didn't meet in Team Rocket like later episodes suggest (though I did watch that "Training Daze" special and I have to admit that I enjoyed it, even though I kept shouting "continuity, dammit!" like a huge nerd the entire time).

Keeping with that Indigo canon, the timeline that _2k5_ follows doesn't leave any room for the later seasons. The story takes place seven years after Ash first began his journey, five and a half years after he (in my universe, which follows the general flow of the original video games) wins the Indigo League and becomes League Champ, and five years after the beginning of the current world war. This makes the characters seven years older than the age I envisioned them when the series began. This shouldn't be too hard for everyone to follow, though I probably should remind everyone that, in my universe, Gary is six years older than Ash. This was based on an erroneous theory of mine… but I'll get into that when I post Gary's character profile in a later chapter.

In short (isn't it a little late to say that?), _2k5_ was my attempt at creating a full history – a 'conclusion' – for these characters to whom I had become so attached, which is why everything rides so strongly on years and dates that are now old news (it's sort of like reading _1984_, but without all the communism paranoia. Also, _1984_ is about ten times better. But hey, Orwell wasn't 13 years old, either). Even so, those were the years I wrote it and the years I set the story, so I'm going to leave them as they are, even if their "future" is now our "past." Well, let's just pretend the Nomekop Calendars run differently than our own. _(waves magic wand and makes it so)_

I'd love to talk more on the characters and the "Nomekop" (yes, it's Pokemon spelled backwards – very clever, Seventh-Grade Me) Universe, but I get the feeling this has run on way too long already. Reminiscing tends to do that to us old-timers, doncha know. ;-) Next time I promise to stay on topic better. I'll even post one of those Character Profiles I mentioned, which feature Exciting Wartime History on _2k5_'s cast. You just started gnawing on your keyboard in anticipation again, didn't you?

'Till Next Time!—Dee ;-)


	3. Veterans

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Pokemon Universe, otherwise I'd have made an M-Rated, Team Rocket video game by now, entitled it _Grand Theft Pokemon_, and made a small fortune ("You have defeated HIKER! Would you like to (a) Steal his Pokemon, (b) Steal his money, or (c) Bludgeon him with a monkey wrench?"). The story is mine, as are the couple of original characters.

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and violence.

* * *

**Chapter Three: Veterans  
**Tracey looked out the window of the small jet plane. Still more ocean. He'd been seeing the same scenery for hours. He sighed. How boring. The plane was quiet, except for the nervous drumming of Gary's fingers. Tracey looked over to see how his friend was holding up. He looked a little pale, but for the most part had managed to keep his composure. Ever since the horrible crash, Gary had seemed nervous around airplanes. Tracey couldn't say he liked them much, either.

Tracey ran a finger across the scar tissue along his jawbone. He glanced over to see Gary rubbing at a scar he'd earned along his forearm. _'What a couple of beauty contestants we are,'_ he thought with a wry chuckle. Looking back out the window, Tracey thought he caught sight of land in the distance. By squinting a little, he could just make out a shoreline. "Hey, Gar', we don't have too much of this bland ocean view left."

Peering out his own window, Gary nodded, confirming Tracey's statement. He frowned. "Too bad our first sight of Kanto is gonna be..." he trailed off, unable to finish.

_'Pallet Town,'_ Tracey finished silently. Maybe he shouldn't have mentioned it until they were well over Viridian.

Gary's gaze trailed to the knotted-up jean that remained of his leg, then back out the window. Tracey bit his lip. Stupid. He hated to remind Gary of all the tragedy that had happened in the past year. It constantly let itself be known as it was.

Deep in thought and doodling on a piece of paper, Tracey almost missed seeing Pallet. The shift from blue to brown caught his eye, though, forcing him to look up. Beneath him stood the houses, untouched, standing as if they were waiting for their owners to come back from a long vacation. Though the nuclear activity would have been cleared out a while ago, the grass was still dead and all the trees gnarled and leafless. Tracey felt something thick clog his throat, and he thought that the tightness creeping into his eyes was going to spill over and onto his cheeks.

But then the plane flew over Professor Oak's lab. Tufts of grass grew here and there, and a young tree had begun to sprout. A Rattata scampered through some of the dead grass, on his way back out to the grasslands near Viridian. The tightness faded. Tracey found he could even smile, a little.

"In some ways, that's almost up-lifting," Gary remarked in a whisper. Tracey hadn't known he'd been watching as well. "A couple more years and it'll be just like it was. Except..."

_'Except without everyone we knew,'_ the artist finished to himself.

"You're lucky you're an orphan," Gary told him after a moment. "You never have to worry about losing your family."

"Sure I do," Tracey replied. "What do you think you are?"

Gary grinned in spite of himself. "Hey, you're getting all touchy-feely on me. Save that for the girls in Pewter." He paused, eyes back to the window. Several minutes later, he said, "For what it's worth, I… think of you like a brother, too. So thanks, okay? For everything. This would have been a whole hell of a lot harder if you hadn't been around."

Tracey didn't know what to say to that, and he got the distinct feeling that Gary didn't _want_ him to say anything. So he just turned his gaze back to his own window, setting his head against the pane and closing his eyes to the blur of scenery beneath him.

Not quite thirty minutes later, the plane landed at the tiny Pewter Airport. The pilot stuck his head behind the curtain separating him from his passengers. "Here we are. Hurry up, I've gotta get over to Celadon in a little while."

Tracey took the three stairs down in a couple strides, looking back. He watched Gary struggle somewhat with his crutch, but knew he couldn't ask to help and that Gary wouldn't ask _for_ the help. The ex-pilot was just too damn proud.

In a few minutes, both were walking out the door of the dock building, carrying packs and breathing in the air of their homeland.

"So how d'you think Brock'll react when we show up at his front door?" Tracey wondered.

Gary grinned, already feeling better now that he was on Kanto soil. "Is a welcome home feast and a stripper asking too much?"

"Probably."

"Damn."

xxx

Misty looked out the window of her and Ash's hotel room, sighing forlornly. It had been nearly two weeks since she'd come to Pewter, and almost nothing had changed about her traveling companion. Ash had cooled down soon enough, and an unspoken truce seemed to ring between him and Brock, but there always seemed to be a wall between Ash and the others, especially the Harrison family. At this rate, he'd be running back to the Elite before the month was out.

"Hm?" Misty noticed a pair of male figures walking down the street. The duo were a little too far away for her to make out many characteristics, but one of them was definitely leaning on a crutch, walking with the swinging gait common to one with an injured leg. They paused for a moment, as if looking for something. The darker-haired one turned her way, and for a moment she could distinguish a few facial features. Her heart seemed to stop right in her chest. "Oh my God."

Misty raced for the door of the apartment, passing by the living room where Ash was watching TV. Pikachu perked up as she walked by, but Ash just asked in a bored tone, "Going out?"

"It's them!" Misty cried, poking her head around the door and positively glowing. "It's Gary and Tracey! They've come home!"

He jumped to his feet. "It's _who_? You have to be kidding."

"I know it! Ash, they're alive! Oh, thank God!" And she was gone again. In a moment he heard the door slam shut. With something between a groan and a chuckle, Ash followed after her, Pikachu chattering excitedly as they went.

xxx

"Have you ever been to Pewter?" Tracey asked.

"Once, like seven years ago," Gary answered. "We could ask for directions to the Pokemon Center, then go to Brock's from there... but, being a guy, I'm always wary about that kind of thing..."

Tracey's head shot up. "Hey, did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"I thought someone just yelled our—" Tracey began, but got no farther when the same shout echoed behind them again, this time much louder and closer.

"Tracey! Gary! You're alive!"

Both turned around and were almost knocked over by an ecstatic woman. She wrapped her arms around their necks, squeezing them in a joint hug. "I can't believe it! I just can't believe that you're here in Pewter! Oh, and you're alive! You're safe and you're alive!"

By now Tracey had burst out laughing. "Misty, it's great to see you too."

Gary coughed, trying to pull away from the near-strangling hold. "I'd be a lot happier to see you if you'd stop trying to suffocate me."

"Eh? Oh, oops!" She released her grip, blushing but still glowing with a smile. "You just, you have no idea how worried I've been. Ash hadn't heard anything in so long, then we finally got those letters, but the last one was dated almost a month ago... I'm babbling, I know, but it's so nice to see both of you alive." She stood back, looking the two up and down. Both were thin and all muscle, with deep tans marred occasionally by lighter streaks of scar tissue, the most noticeable being the long line of wrinkled skin wrapping up Tracey's left arm from wrist to forearm. Her eyes stayed only a millisecond longer on Gary's leg, then flashed back up to both of their faces, all happiness and compliments. "You both look just wonderful! I'd forgotten how handsome you were – or maybe you picked that up overseas, too. I spotted you from my apartment window. At first I didn't even recognize you, you've changed so much, especially with those dark tans and your hair so short, but I knew for certain the minute I saw _this_." She plucked Tracey's headband teasingly. "Still insist on wearing this old thing, huh?"

He shrugged. "I like to think of it as a good luck charm."

"Aw. Don't I get a hug too?"

The trio all whirled to the newcomer's voice, Tracey with a surprised laugh bursting from his throat. "Ash! What a weird coincidence, meeting you guys here!"

"When you find out who else is here it'll be more than just a weird coincidence," he said. As Pikachu piped a pleasant greeting to Tracey, Ash turned to face Gary. Both looked the other one in the eye, keeping their faces even. "Gary."

"Ash."

The Champ's eyes traveled across his old rival before at last meeting his eyes again. "I was going to ask why you got released, but the answer seems to speak for itself, doesn't it?"

"Ash!" Misty hissed, connecting her elbow hard into his ribcage.

Gary's fists tightened, but all he said was, "We were looking for Brock's place. You know where it is?"

Misty nodded. "Yeah, I visit a lot. Ash likes to be a little more reclusive, but I drag him along when I can. If you want, I can take you there now." She turned to go, but hesitated at the last minute. "Um, the virus Quiana launched is sweeping through his house, though, so if you aren't immune…"

"Misty, I want you to understand something," Tracey said, swinging an arm around her shoulder. "Out in the boonies, we were subject to about everything you could think of. Malaria, flu, cholera—"

"—Pneumonia, food poisoning, _scurvy_ of all things—" Gary continued.

"—Not to mention Quiana's patented killer," Tracey finished.

"We've looked death in the face, flipped it the bird and told it to get bent," Gary chuckled. "There's very little that'll scare us war heroes."

Misty shivered. "How awful. How'd you ever get through it?"

"A little TLC from Nurse Erika went a long way," Gary said with a wistful smile. "Not to mention they shipped in about every medicine you can imagine. Heaven forbid the soldiers die of something other than someone else killing them."

Ash snorted. "Not that anyone gives a rip about the people _not_ fighting."

"Including you," Misty snapped. She was so sick of his attitude. She ignored the Champ and apologized several times to Tracey and Gary for him. "Ash's been like this ever since I met up with him. I don't know what the hell is wrong, but he'd better figure out that being a jerk won't help anything."

Tracey tried to change the subject. "Ash mentioned that some other people were here. Who is it? Anyone I know?"

"Yeah, I'd say you know them well enough." Misty grinned. "Let's just call it a surprise. We're almost there, anyway, and if I know them at all they're probably at Brock's right now."

xxx

"King me."

"Dammit, James, how'd you get so good at this game?" Brock groaned, flicking a checkers piece across the table in mock rage. He stared at his pile of two red pieces, and James' collection of black ones, sighing.

"Don't feel so bad. Not everyone is lucky enough to get beaten by me," James told him, a smile playing on his lips.

Jessie, in turn, grinned. It was amazing what a little socialization had done for her old partner. The family was so friendly, though, that it was almost impossible _not_ to feel cheerier around them.

"Jess? Helloooo Jessie?" A hand waved in front of her face.

She snapped out of her private world, looking up at Celia. The younger woman laughed. "I can't teach you how to cook if you don't pay attention." She followed Jessie's gaze to where Brock and James were sitting. "Hm... But then again, man-watching has always been an interesting sport."

Jessie blushed. "Sorry. I'm trying to learn, but you know, some people just weren't meant to cook."

"Oh, anyone can do it. Now, being a gourmet chef like myself... that's a talent you have to be born with."

"Sort of a hereditary gene?"

"Exactly."

Both women smiled, thoroughly enjoying the quiet weekend evening. The peace came to an abrupt end, however, when Frita announced from her usual spot in the chair by the window, "Hey, we have some guests coming this way. Looks like Ash and Misty are bringing some friends... Whoa, one of them only has one leg."

The last remark caught everyone's attention.

"Hey, Frita, one wouldn't happen to be wearing a red headband, would he?" Brock asked.

"Uh, yeah, actually." She cocked her head, looking to Brock. "Do you know them?

His face broke into a grin.

"That's a yes," Gwen confirmed. She pushed Frita out of the way. "Aren't those the two who were fighting in the war?"

"War heroes?" Zach scrambled to the window. "We're getting overrun by celebrities!" He sucked in air. "Wow, the tall guy _does_ only have one leg! Weird."

"Gary?" Brock asked, not really expecting the others to answer. He peered out the window, hissing out a surprised breath between his teeth. "You're right. I wonder what happened." He whirled on his siblings. "Don't say a word about it when he gets here, all right? I know you're curious, but we'll find out when we're meant to. Until then, no one's going to make him feel uncomfortable. You got that?"

"Yessir," they all replied in unison.

Jessie giggled. "He'll make a good father... or a drill sergeant."

Conversation was cut short as three sharp raps hit the door – Ash's knock. Brock got the door, though he didn't even have a chance to move backwards before Misty grabbed him in a hug. "They're back! Can you believe it?"

Brock looked over her head at the newcomers, flashing the pair a warm, easy smile. "We saw you coming up the stairs. Welcome back. We're a little cramped for space, but if you wanna come in for a while that's fine. Celia and Jessie are trying to cook dinner."

"Jessie?" Tracey asked. He shot Misty a look. "Is that your surprise?"

Misty nodded, letting go of Brock in the process. He shook hands heartily with Tracey and Gary, welcoming them inside and over into the living room. Three heads peeked over the top of the sofa at the new duo.

"Hi," Tracey greeted. "You must be Brock's brothers and sisters."

"Yeah, but we aren't allowed to talk to you 'cause we might make you feel uncomfortable," Zach explained.

Gwen rolled her eyes. "You'll have to excuse my brother. He's kind of an idiot." She stuck out a hand. "I'm Gwen, he's Zach, and that's Frita. Sorry about the board games, but we didn't know there'd be guests."

"That's fine. Sparkling clean houses always made me feel nervous," Tracey assured her, taking the hand. He glanced over as a long-legged man unfolded himself from behind the table. "Is… is that James Morgan?"

"One and the same," he said, striding over to them and shaking hands with the pair. "I trust the war was as horrible for you as it was for me."

"Probably," Tracey agreed. "It's good to be home."

Jessie waved a quick 'hello,' as did Celia.

"Make yourselves comfortable," Brock's younger sister said. "Dinner will be ready in a few minutes." She pushed Jessie out of the kitchen. "I'll take it from here. We'll work on the cooking later."

Since Brock's parents were originally from Tenuto, they followed similar traditions to the culture, including sitting on the floor when eating – a custom that quickly proved problematic. The whole group tried to seat themselves around the table, but there just wasn't enough floor space. Brock's siblings ended up having to sit on the couch with their bowls in their laps. Gary, meanwhile, struggled to slide himself to the floor, and wound up smacking the table with his crutch in the process. He flushed and muttered an apology, avoiding the Harrison family's eyes even as they all assured him that it was fine. Tracey bit his lip and stared at the table. After a moment, though, everyone settled down, and the previous awkwardness vanished as Celia brought out dinner.

Gary and Tracey bit into the food with a will. After a few moments, Gary said decisively: "I can honestly say this is the best meal I've had in almost five years."

Tracey nodded. "Probably the only full meal, too."

"I take it they didn't feed you too well out there," Celia said.

Gary snorted. "That's an understatement. Out in the boonies - that's what everyone called the war grounds – it took so long to get the food out to the camps that everything was either stale or heading that direction by the time it hit our plate."

"Undercooked, too, at least until that E Coli epidemic," Tracey put in. "It was major hell. I don't think I was really meant for it. Gary had some fun, though."

Gary smirked, enjoying a bit of bragging. "Seven medals and a Crimson Band. Not too shabby, huh?" He jerked a thumb at his friend. "Trace didn't do so bad himself. Got three beauties to bring home."

"Three on ribbons and three on my face," Tracey remarked, running his index finger over a short, thin scar slashing across the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, but you know how much girls like that sort of rugged handsomeness," Jessie reminded them.

Brock rubbed his chin, pretending to think hard. "Maybe I oughta enlist."

"Oh, you're good looking enough right now," Misty told him. For a split second, Brock thought she might be flirting, but hurriedly brushed it off as a friendly compliment. "Actually, I'm sort of surprised you _don't_ have a girlfriend, Brock."

He shrugged. "I'm pretty busy, and there aren't that many girls around my age left in town."

James smiled slightly. "A young woman near Ash's age works down at Carter's. She seemed eager for male companionship."

"Tara would sleep with a Muk if it had the right parts," Brock retorted. He seemed to remember just _who_ was in the room and shot a quick look back at Frita, Gwen and Zach. "By the way, that's a very rude thing to say and I don't ever wanna hear _you_ saying it."

"Yessir!" they said again, saluting smartly.

Ash laughed in spite of himself. "Since it looks like it's my turn to ask a question, what do you plan on doing now that you're back in Kanto?"

"We never really thought that far," Gary admitted. "We're good on money, so there's no reason to leave for a while. Maybe if I get bored I'll swing over to Celadon, see Erika's friends and tell them she's okay."

"Do you have a room for the night?" Brock asked, ready to offer his home as a place to stay.

"We were planning on dumping ourselves off here," Tracey said, "but you're packed enough as it is. Like Gar' said, we have some money, so we'll probably just rent an apartment."

Misty smiled. "Then you'll probably be living near Ash and me for a while. That's good - sometimes I don't like walking halfway across town for a little company." Her smile dropped. "Ash hardly ever talks to me, so he doesn't really count. Still, he's better than nothing. Being in that room alone would give me the creeps."

"You get lonely a lot, Mist?" Tracey asked.

She rubbed her wrists together. "I don't like being by myself. It's something..." She yawned, ending the train of conversation. "Mm, another perfect meal, Celia."

"Yeah, that was wonderful," Tracey agreed, setting his teacup down.

Celia blushed, all modesty. "Don't give me all the credit. Brock made the tea and Jessie helped with the main course." She reached out to take the cup from Tracey. He picked it up, to give over, and for a moment their hands touched. They smiled at one another for a second, then Tracey let go and Celia stood up to take care of the dishes.

"Well, whoever made it, thanks," Misty said, oblivious to the sparks of electricity that had just passed on her right. "But you know, the excitement and the good meal have really worn me down. I think I'll head back home."

She looked at Ash almost expectantly and he nodded, standing to follow her. "I'll come, too."

A few seconds later, Tracey also got up. "I'd hate to wear out my welcome. Besides, we need someone to show us the way." He offered Gary a hand. The ex-pilot ignored it, using the couch to push himself to his feet.

"Thanks for the hospitality. I got half of my welcome home wish: a full meal," Gary said.

"What was the other half?" Frita wanted to know.

"Something kids don't need to hear," he replied, stretching. "Lead the way, Trace."

"We ought to go, too," Jessie said as James courteously helped her up.

Brock accompanied them to the door while the three children cleared the table and Celia took a much-needed break from housework.

"You're welcome to come back over whenever you want," Brock invited, always polite. "I work wall duty for on most weekdays, but Celia and the others love having people over."

"We'll probably take tomorrow to unpack, but it's nice to know we've got friends nearby," Tracey said.

As the group turned to go their separate ways, Brock called out down the stairs to Gary, "Out of curiosity, what was the other half of your welcome home wish?"

Gary's smirk was just visible in the moonlight. "A job this Tara girl would have been great at. You think you can hire her to jump out of a cake?"

Brock's laughter rang through the night air.

xxx

"Here we are," Ash announced, stopping in front of his and Misty's apartment. "Carter said yours was right above ours." He looked straight at Gary when he said, "The stairs are pretty steep – think you can handle it?"

Gary's jaw tightened, but Tracey put a hand on his shoulder and gently steered him to the staircase. The artist managed to give the League Champ a look of pure disgust before disappearing up to their own apartment.

Misty whirled on Ash and even Pikachu growled disapprovingly, but both stopped when they saw him staring up at the staircase, his eyes narrowed and a soft frown twitching at his lips. "How does he do it?" he asked, more to himself than to her. "He lost his family and his leg in a single year, but… but he just keeps _going_, living life as normally as he can. How is that even possible?"

"Because Gary's learned something that you haven't," Misty said quietly. "It's like waves."

"Like waves?"

"Crests," she said, raising her arm, "and troughs," she finished, dipping it down again. "Repeating themselves again and again. Only it's a lot easier to fall off the crest than it is to get out of the trough. But, even so…" She frowned, turning her eyes to the star-streaked sky. "Knowing that there _is _another crest there, and struggling towards it with everything you've got… that's the important part, I think. Because, no matter how dark things get, if you just keep chasing after that tiny speck of light… then, surely…"

"Then, surely…?"

She shrugged. "Well. We all have to finish that one on our own, I guess."

She unlocked the door and walked in, Ash following just a silent, pensive step behind her.

xxx

Tracey woke up in a cold sweat, breathing hard and glancing around slowly. It was that dream again. The one he'd been having for years. It always started with him watching a burning building. He tried to rush inside, to help someone, but a pair of adult arms held him back. He cried out, struggling with all his might, but he was too small to get away from the man's hold. The walls collapsed, and he let out another scream before waking up.

Even now, he hated that dream. He'd been told his parents were killed in a fire when he was only about three, so he assumed that's what the nightmare was all about. Tonight, though, there was something different about it. Someone else had been inside that building... if he could only figure out _who_...

"Had the dream again?"

Tracey's head snapped to the side, surprised to find Gary awake in his own sleeping bag. He lay stretched out on his stomach, a flashlight in one hand and an open book splayed out in front of him. "Y-yeah," the artist admitted. "What's wrong? Can't sleep?"

"If I could would I be awake?"

Tracey leaned over, peering at the book open in front of his friend. "What's that?" Gary didn't need to answer. Tracey could see it was a photo album: a family scrapbook that Gary had taken with him when he'd left for the war. It was turned to a group shot, one that had been taken right before Gary and Ash had set off to the Indigo League, all those years ago. Brock, Misty and Tracey crowded in around the edges, all smiles and "victory" signs. Professor Oak, Mrs. Ketchum, and Gary's mother, father and sister filled up the rest of the frame, grinning like the others. In the middle stood Ash and Gary, for once getting along, faces glowing with hope.

"That was about the only time we were all ever on good terms with each other," Gary muttered. "That, and after Ash gave me the royal ass-whooping on Indigo." He paused. "What's his problem, anyway? I know I used to be kind of an ass, but that was _years_ ago..."

"Is this about what he said earlier?" Tracey asked. "About, well… all that?" He never could bring himself to mention Gary's disability.

He nodded. "I know I shouldn't let it get to me, but since we _were_ gonna be something like relatives..."

"Professor Oak and Mrs. Ketchum," Tracey said needlessly.

"They were gonna get married when I got back. Only..." Tracey hoped he hadn't caught what sounded like a choked sob. Gary snapped the album shut. "Well, no use getting stuck on 'what if's, right? I just realized how tired I am, so, I'll hit the sack. Try getting back to sleep, all right?"

"Okay," he agreed, crawling over to his own bag. He lay down and closed his eyes, but Tracey didn't fall asleep for quite some time. Because he now knew just whose voice he had heard inside that building.

xxx

Ash was jostled roughly awake. Looking up, he stared into a pair of impatient blue eyes. "Will you wake up?" Misty snapped. "It's nearly ten-thirty. I've never seen anyone as lazy as you are."

Ash shoved her off the couch that served as his bed. "What's so damn important that you had to wake me up?"

"We're going to help Gary and Tracey get settled. That apartment they got didn't have furniture like ours did, so we're going to loan them a couch and a few other things. Tracey's busy unpacking, and obviously Gary can't help me carry stuff up, so that leaves you."

He sighed, standing up and throwing on some clothes. Pikachu yawned from his perch at the top of the pillow, but Ash just waved him back to sleep. "There's no reason for _you _to get your morning ruined, too," he said, shooting an irritated glance at Misty. After a quick meal, he stood and walked reluctantly upstairs with her, everything in his posture practically screaming hostility.

Gary met them at the door. "Hey, come on in. Tracey's shoving the bit of furniture we got around." He laughed a little. "Sometimes I wonder about him. Is it _possible_ for guys to like decorating?"

"I heard that!" Tracey called from down the hall.

Gary shrugged. "Maybe it's an artsy thing. At any rate, feel free to give some tips." He tossed a hand in a feminine gesture, saying in a girlish falsetto, "But, like, totally don't dirty up the good carpet."

A Pokeball flew out of nowhere and hit Gary in the head. "To the moon, Alice!" Tracey cried, trotting down the hall and greeting their guests. "You think one of you guys can help me get the bed against the wall? The Carter guy who owns this place must be an idiot - he didn't even put the stupid bed in the bedroom!"

Misty leant Tracey a hand, and they went down the hall and disappeared into an adjoining room. Gary started back to the living room, Ash on his heel. "I'm just clearing out our bags," Gary explained, easing himself down to the floor with Tracey's backpack in front of him. "You'd be amazed at the kind of ancient things I find. If you wanna help, just pick a bag and go nuts."

Ash moved over to a blue duffel. The Champ unzipped it and opened it wide, blinking at what looked like at least three hundred Pokeballs crammed together, all in miniature form.

"These yours?" Ash asked.

"Guess so. They were all sent to me after Pallet got destroyed." It was the nicest way to put it. "I never had a chance to sort 'em out or anything, so I just kept them in there."

Ash picked up a couple, remarking lightly, "Some trainer _you_ are. They aren't even marked – I can't tell what's in any of them."

"Well it's a little hard to find time to label Pokeballs when you're, you know, trying _not_ to get turned into a human firework," Gary retorted. "The only one that'll have anything on it is my Umbreon." A little of the hostility in his voice slipped away at the name. "Man, I haven't seen her in ages. Be nice to see how she's holding up."

Ash tossed one ball over. "Says 'Eevee' on the side. I'm guessing that's the right one."

Without any particular flourish as he would have done when younger, Gary popped open the Pokeball. An Umbreon, looking healthy but a little raggedy, came out, shaking her head and looking around. Upon spotting Gary, she gave a small squeal and trotted up to him. Gary smiled, rubbing his hand behind one of her long ears. "Hey girl, ya miss me?" He frowned, eyes trailing to the collar around her neck and the papers tucked beneath it. "What're these?" He pulled them out, reading down one and raising an eyebrow in a silent question. He flipped it over to another paper, face darkening as he went. He seemed to look it over several times, then folded it up slowly.

"Well, what is it?" Ash asked, curiosity overtaking his coldness.

"A letter," he managed to get out. "From..."

Ash snatched the paper out of Gary's willing hands. The war veteran made no attempt to take it back from him, but just stared at the carpet blankly. Ash read:

_Dear Gary,  
It grieves me to say that your parents have just passed on, not five minutes from each other, and I fear that I am next. There is too much to say, and I can feel my mind falling, slipping from this world into the next. I still my trembling hands and continue with what remains. It will have to suffice._

_I've enclosed my will with this. It entitles you to everything. This is not entirely what I wanted, but there is so little time. I trust that you will divide a quarter of its contents between Ash and Tracey, for whom I wish nothing but the very best. As you will see upon inspection of the will, this small loss on your part will be an enormous gift to them. You are a very rich man, and if you make it out of the war I only ask that you use your wealth wisely. I believe that you will. No – I know that you will, because you have always been such an intelligent young man, and so resourceful. Kind, too, more than you would ever admit, and more than perhaps you even realize. Allow that kindness to be your strength. It will last you far longer than any weapon ever could. _

_And if that kindness falters, then remember your parents, who died without pain, peaceful in the knowledge that their son still lived, still fought, still loved as fiercely as he had when he first came into this world, climbing towards a future filled with limitless hope. And remember that hope, which allows you always to move forward, always to climb towards that unknown tomorrow, always to find a day where you may laugh once more, though tears of grief strangle you now. _

_And, if a day comes when even hope wavers, then I ask you, perhaps selfishly, to remember the love of an old man, who saw you as a light so bright it was nearly blinding. _

_You are my pride. You are my hope. Wherever I go, whatever I become, that is the one truth that will never waver._

_I pray for nothing but your happiness._

_Love Always,  
Grandpa'_

Slowly Gary reached over and took it away from Ash, who didn't resist. "Even in the very end... he was only thinking about me."

Ash grabbed the will, skimming it quickly. He whistled. "Five mill. Damn. If you're smart with it, you'll never have to work a day."

"Is that all that matters to you?" Gary wondered blandly, as if he were just waking from a dream.

"Hey, if you don't want it, I wouldn't mind taking it off your hands," Ash told him, running a finger along the edge of the will. "You'd have to be crazy to give it up, though… Well, at least one-eighth of it is mine, so…"

"Jus _take_ the damn money if that's all you care about. It's yours," Gary said in one of the coldest voices Ash had ever heard. "I suppose the man who would have been your stepfather would like to see you happy."

"Oh. _That_." Ash spat the word. "I never _did_ like it. The age difference was insane."

"They loved each other!" Gary snapped, jerking his head to look the League Champ in the eyes. "And now they're gone forever and the only thing you seem to want is some damn inheritance!"

Ash ignored him, still staring at the paper in his hands. "And, being related to you, no matter how distantly, always made me a little sick to my stomach."

"Related to _me_? I—" Gary stopped short, though it looked like it took every ounce of self control he had to do it. He took a breath, though it did little to ease the tension in his form. "You know what? No. I'm not going to waste my breath on this juvenile bullshit." Gary struggled to his feet, crutch pounding out an enraged rhythm against the floor as he made for the front door. "I'm leaving before I do something I wouldn't be proud of."

Ash watched through half-closed lids as Gary barreled past the puzzled Misty and Tracey. His voice drawled out in a sarcastic taunt. "Is this still about how I humiliated you on Indigo?"

"Oh, fuck_ off_!" Gary bellowed back down the hallway, slamming the door in his wake.

The echo of the door filled the tiny apartment. Tracey and Misty glanced first at each other, then back to the doorway. Misty felt like her whole body was going to snap with rage. "That little…" she spluttered.

Tracey didn't say anything to her. He stalked into the living room with a purpose, jaw set, neck splotched red, and fists tightened into violent balls at his sides. Anger swallowed by curiosity – she couldn't remember _ever_ seeing him this upset before – Misty followed.

Ash stood slowly as the pair entered the living room, eyes still half-closed in apathy, hands in pockets, body relaxed. _'Here it comes,_' he thought to himself, and even managed an eye roll when Tracey stormed up to him. "Yeah, yeah, I know, I've been a very bad boy," Ash said dryly. "Want me to go stand in the corner?"

Without even a hint of warning Tracey swung out, fist connecting solidly with Ash's cheekbone. It was so hard and unexpected that Ash felt his whole neck snap backwards. He hissed out a curse, pressing a hand to his face as he slowly turned back to the young artist, staring at him from under his bangs.

Tracey was not what anyone would call a tall man. After a short growth spurt in his early teens, Tracey had barely added more than half an inch to his height. With his eyes just level with Ash's chin, he hardly looked a match for the lanky League Champ. But standing there, literally quivering with rage, his military-born muscles tense against his skin and aching for violence, Ash felt a pang of fear race through him.

"Don't," Tracey said slowly, grinding out his words through gritted teeth, "think for a second that that was from Gary. I know damn well it wouldn't mean anything that way." He swallowed hard, forcing the fists at his sides to relax, though just barely. "It was from your mom. You bastard." He stormed out before Ash had a chance to retaliate, though the slackness of his body suggested that he hadn't intended to in the first place.

"About time someone did that," Misty said with a thin smile from the doorway. "Maybe it'll knock some sense into your thick skull." And she, too, turned and left.

Ash slumped down into the single chair in the room, rubbing faintly at his sore cheek, already swelling from the blow. Something between a distressed frown and a bemused smile hovered on his face, though even he wasn't exactly sure which one he wanted to wear the most. "From my mom… huh…?" he murmured into the empty stillness.

* * *

**7/9/08**

**On Characters (Or, "Fanfiction Authors: Overanalyzing Since 1967!")  
**This fic was a fun experience for me, because it was the first (and oddly enough, only) time that I'd ever taken a serious look at the personalities of the PokeCast outside of Team Rocket, and possibly Brock. Instead of just poking fun at the overall silliness of the characters like I did in my comedies, I actually had to look at what I The Viewer knew about the personalities of the cast, and then work with that as best as I could. And I have to say, doing all of that wound up being a _blast_. Thanks to the writing of this fanfic, I became not only a Gary fan, but also a Tracey fan, two things I really hadn't been before. I even gained a sort of grudging sympathy for Ash. I guess being able to "peek into their heads" made them a lot more likeable for me.

This fic was also an experiment, in its own little way, a question that I asked myself: throw these people into a darker version of their world, speckle their lives with hardships, and who do they become? I won't say that my portrayals are perfect, but they're what Seventh-Grade Me came up with, and I'm still attached to them in a nostalgic sort of way. Why else would Alex the Muse have prodded me in the back of the head and gotten me to do this edit?

Each of these characters developed their own unique histories, which then shaped their personalities. And while most of the major events do at least get _mentioned_ in _2k5_, a lot of the details really don't. Again, that was my own fault: I fleshed them out as I went, intending to write a series of prequel stories, and just never got around to finishing them. I think a tiny part of me still wants me to, though, which is why I'm going to go ahead and attach Character Profiles to the rest of the chapters, to help touch up on the omitted details. And don't worry – these will be Spoiler Free Zones. Anything that shows up in the profiles has either already been mentioned in the fic, or will never be mentioned in the fic. So no need to clap your hands over your eyes and start madly clicking the window closed.

So let's get the ball rolling! And who better to start with then…

**Ash Ketchum**

**The Basics  
**-He's eighteen years old.  
-His appearance has changed probably the most out of everyone, for obvious reasons. He's a lot taller (about 5'10"), and lanky because he's still sort of in that "awkward growth spurt" phrase. His hair is cropped a bit shorter, especially the bangs, which he sweeps back and up a little bit.  
-He won the Indigo League when he was twelve years old, making him the youngest to ever become League Champion. This makes him the leader of the Elite, the most highly-revered trainer in the Pokemon League, and – like any prominent athlete or entertainer – a person whose good opinion is widely sought after by people in every sphere of society.

**Wartime History**  
-Shortly after he won the League, the world war escalated and finally exploded. The Kanto President sought his support in their entering the war to aid their allies. The Elite, who were strict pacifists, strongly opposed _any_ war efforts on the president's part, but Ash decided that Kanto should prepare itself for war but not actually enter the war itself until another nation showed open hostility towards them. All the Elite but Agatha scorned this decision, and it really hurt Ash's confidence.  
-Ash traveled around Kanto for the majority of the war, trying to help with rebuilding efforts in places that were damaged by terrorist attacks or air-bombings. During that time he saw a lot of death and destruction, as well as a lot of people who were very resentful towards the Elite's "hands-off" attitude regarding the war. Sometimes they took that anger out on him.  
-After Pallet was destroyed, he cut off all communication with everyone but the Elite, and ordered them all to remain in the mountain retreat. He wandered restlessly and bitterly for about a year, taking care of legal issues regarding his mother's death, then decided to join his companions in the mountains. That's where we meet him.

**Relationships**  
-Ash used to revere Lance as a hero, but now looks on him more like an older brother figure. He has a deep respect for all of the Elite and thinks of them as his remaining "family," despite their sometimes patronizing attitudes towards him.  
-He remained very close with his mother despite the fact that he didn't approve of her engagement to Samuel Oak. Her optimism regarding the final outcome of the war and the nature of human beings in general was always a big help to him, especially when he ran into some of the horrors going on in the rest of Kanto. On her deathbed, she at last told him the true identity of his father. Ash has shared this information with no one… and the author will respect his silence.  
-He and Brock got into a pretty nasty fight about the Elite's passivity shortly after Pewter was attacked (_Pewter's Lament_, one of the few prequel stories I finished, talks about this). They eventually made up, but their friendship was always a little chillier after that.  
-Misty and Ash saw each other off and on until Pallet's destruction one year ago. They were constantly going back and forth between being almost-a-couple and almost-sworn-enemies. This may have also had something to do with the fact that Ash discovered girls when he was fourteen, and wasn't ashamed to flirt with them.  
-Ash used to reply to Tracey's letters, but that also trailed off shortly after Pallet's destruction.

**General Personality Ramblings**  
I am admittedly not an Ash fan, so sometimes it's easy to attribute my sometimes-negative portrayal of him in _2k5 _to my own dislike. Though I'm sure that _did _have something to do with it, I also didn't really like Gary or Tracey going into this thing, and they ended up as my two favorites, so it's hard to say for sure. What I _do_ know is that Ash always struck me as the sort of kid who was very skilled and perceptive with Pokemon but rather oblivious when it came to other human beings. I think that overall awkwardness, coupled with the war, turned him into the sometimes-bitter, sometimes-clumsily sympathetic teenager who appears in _2k5_.

And, even though I still don't really like him all that much, I have to say that I feel compassion for him. He had to go through a lot of hardships at a very young age, and he did it essentially without the support of his Elite "family," who were so violently opposed to the war that they did very little even in the peacekeeping efforts. I think their disapproval really dealt his confidence a blow, and he had to make up for that by being overly arrogant the rest of the time. Also, like Misty and Gary, Ash has had less time to deal with his personal tragedies than some of the other characters (Jess and James were, after all, separated almost five years ago), so I think he comes across as "weaker" because of that. He's still working through his trials, and still trying to become an adult. It's a difficult time for him. Let's hope that, with a little support from his friends, he can make it through okay. I hope everyone can feel a little sympathy for him, even through his most infuriating moments, and cheer him on towards making the right decisions about the war!

Well, that seems like a good place to stop. I think I'll do Brock's profile in the next chapter. Lots of good back story in that one! Hope you look forward to it!

'Till Next Time!—Dee ;)


	4. The Decision

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Pokemon Universe, otherwise you'd have seen some uncut, subtitled episodes in the US by now (Remember, folks: 4Kids hates both Japan _and_ happiness). The story is mine, as are the couple of original characters.

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and violence.

* * *

**Chapter Four: The Decision  
**Tracey and Gary both cooled down soon enough, and yet another unspoken apology was uttered on Ash's part, but the atmosphere continued to remain cold around him. Ash, for what it was worth, _did_ try to be a bit nicer to everyone, particularly Brock and Tracey, and even though he still greeted Gary with ice he refrained from making any more comments about his old rival's injury. Still, nearly a full month had passed, and Ash never once mentioned going to the Elite's mountain hideaway. Misty wondered how in the world she was ever going to convince the League Champ to get the Elite involved in the war.

Another Saturday afternoon rolled around, and for once the October air was unusually warm. Everyone, gathered at Brock's home, decided to take their party outside and enjoy one of the few pleasant days they had left before another Kanto winter blew in. Brock's apartment had a spacious deck, perfect for outdoor activities, so this was where they had set up their new grounds. A table sat in the middle, with several different games piled next to it. Brock flipped some burgers on the grill, enjoying the autumn weather. Gary and Misty stretched out in lawn chairs, watching Tracey and James battle it out in a chess game. Ash balanced on the deck's railing, eyes half-closed, soaking in the sunlight. Jessie and Celia watched from a kitchen window, finishing up a salad for lunch. Brock's three other siblings were down in the yard below, playing a pickup basketball game on the apartment complex's homemade half-court.

"Checkmate," Tracey said with a grin, sliding his remaining rook into place.

James blinked a few times. "Impossible." He studied the move from all angles. After a moment, he sighed, shaking his head and smiling. "You're the first person to beat me in years. Congratulations." His eyes flashed a fire of competitiveness. "Care for another round?"

Brock, Misty and Gary chuckled, heckling James and thanking Tracey several times for proving that the assassin was human.

"I've never seen anyone win that many games in a row," Gary said. "Nice to see the streak broken."

James shrugged. "An upset is always due." His eyes narrowed into a challenge. "Now, let's see you do that twice."

"With pleasure," Tracey agreed with a smirk. "I should warn you, though: I've had a lot of practice."

James returned the smile with one of his own. "Likewise."

Celia gazed out the window, smiling a little. Jessie poked her in the shoulder. "You've been cleaning that lettuce off for about two minutes. Any longer and you'll wash the taste away, too."

The young cook snapped back to her own world. "Oh, sorry about that, Jess. How are you doing?"

"Pretty good," Jessie said, gesturing to the pile of sliced vegetables. "Cutting is about the only thing I _don't_ screw up."

Celia started to peel the lettuce off into the salad bowl. Her eyes looked to both sides to make sure none of the others were around, then she leaned in and hissed to her newest friend and confidante, "Tracey's… sort of cute, don't you think?"

Jessie snickered. "_Now_ who's man-watching?"

"Hey, I can look, can't I?" she justified, blushing brightly and reminding Jessie of a younger, female Brock. "So… like I was saying…"

"Hey ladies, plan on sharing the juicy bit of gossip with us?" Brock called.

Both young women jerked their heads up, Celia with the flush only spreading further across her cheeks. She managed to cover her embarrassment with a wave of her hand, saying airily, "Oh, we were just trying to decide which one of you boys is the most attractive."

"Oh?" Brock raised an eyebrow. "And who's winning?"

"Well," Celia shot a knowing smirk at Jessie, "we're still debating on Number One." She turned her eyes back to her brother, hands on hips and lips parted in a teasing grin. "But _you're_ not in either of our Top Three, so just go back to your burgers, Mister Ugly, and leave us girls to our gossip."

Brock shot his friends on the deck a look of feigned injury. "Women can be so cruel."

Misty opened her mouth to say something, but Gary broke in before she could begin, fluttering his eyelashes teasingly. "Aw, cheer up, Brock – you'll always be in_ my _Top Three." He set his hands to his cheeks, looking upwards and saying with an exaggerated sigh, "Tenutan guys are soooo dreamy."

Everyone laughed, and Celia looked to Jessie, wiping her forehead in mock relief. During the ensuing heckles that filled the deck, no one noticed when Brock glanced at Misty, an eyebrow raised as if to ask what she'd been about to say. She smiled and pointed at him, giving him a thumps-up and mouthing _'Top Three.'_ He grinned back and pointed first at himself, then held up his index finger, mouthing back, _'Number one?' _She pressed a finger to her lips – apparently it was a secret. His lower lip jutted out in mock sadness, and she rolled her eyes and called out over Gary's sudden debate on how to rate the _girls_ – and Jessie's taunting call that she wouldn't trust _any_ of their perverted judgments anyway – "Well, the burgers smell about finished. How's the salad coming? I'm starving."

Celia and Jessie glanced down at their tossed salad, surprised to find that they'd finished during the argument. "All done in here." Together they grabbed some dressings and condiments for the food. Jessie wiped the chess board off the little table, plunking the food down.

"We _were_ in the middle of a game," James remarked with a hint of annoyance.

Jessie smiled. "Your point being...?"

He tried to act irritated, but couldn't do it. Sighing and chuckling, he took a cup of lemonade from Celia.

"Sorry about that, Trace," Celia apologized. "You weren't too far into it, were you?"

"Uh, no, we'd just started," Tracey assured her. "Don't worry about it."

She smiled, handing the artist a glass of lemonade. She hovered at the table for another half second, then went on to pass drinks out to the others. Gary smirked, elbowing Tracey in the ribs.

'_What?'_ Tracey mouthed. Gary only winked, leaning back and thanking Celia for the drink. Tracey shook his head and turned his attention to the salad bowl.

After Brock had dumped the burgers onto some paper plates and passed those out too, the group set to the food with a will. Frita, Gwen and Zach joined them halfway through the meal, complaining about not being invited up.

"How was the game?" Celia asked.

"Didn't go too well. Uneven teams. The girls ganged up on me," Zach explained, piling some food on to his plate. "Too bad we didn't have someone else down there." He looked around at the crowded deck. "We'll eat down by the court. It's almost too hot to be out in the sun right now, especially after the game." The three children thanked the cooks, then trotted down the steps.

At the mention of another person, Celia and Brock exchanged glances. Amid the excitement of the good weather and high spirits, they'd nearly forgotten about Kris.

"I'll be back," Brock said, grabbing a plate of food and disappearing into the house.

Celia bit her lip, swallowed hard.

"How is he?" Misty asked after a moment's silence.

"I wouldn't know. Brock's the only one who can see him, since he's already had the virus... But, according to him, Kris isn't too good. I've seen it happen so many times. It's been nearly four months, and that usually means..." She choked on the rest of the sentence. Tracey, the closest to her, instinctively pressed a comforting hand to her shoulder; to his surprise she reached up with her hand and took his fingers, squeezing them between hers for a short moment before dropping them again. Forcing a smile, Celia looked up, swallowing and blinking back a hint of tears. "But we stay hopeful. After all, there's always a chance he'll get better, or that we might get a shipment of medicine in, and we're going to hang on to that."

"Why?" Ash asked. "Why hang on to something that's so close to impossible?"

"Because if you don't keep hope alive," Celia said, trying another weak smile, "then what's the point in living?"

Ash stared at the ground, eyebrows knitted together. "Is that so?" he muttered to nobody.

xxx

"We'll be leaving today," James said one Sunday morning at the beginning of November. It was something he said every day, not really meaning it.

"No," Jessie always answered. Today, as with every day, she followed it with a reason. "I'm finally learning how to do something other than boil water."

James shrugged. "If that's what you want." Secretly he was glad to stay in the city. There was something in this place that seemed to always put him in a good mood. Still, Midnight's warning back at the bar had worried him a little, and he kept an eye open for anything unusual. James had never failed a job since he'd become a bounty hunter, and he certainly wasn't going to break that streak now. That's what he _told_ himself, anyway. More and more, though, he was beginning to wonder if there wasn't something a little more to it… something that had less to do with his work and more to do with the person he was working _for_, whose "death" had so nearly killed him the first time...

"Any idea what today is?" Jessie asked suddenly, smiling a little.

He jerked back to reality smoothly, revealing none of his thoughts as he answered, "November third..." He nodded. "Ah. It's been a month since we came to Pewter. Am I right?"

She nodded. "I love this city. I really do. I'm happy here, which I haven't really been able to say and _mean_ in a long time. And I never thought I'd be saying this, but… I'm happy being with _them_, too. Those 'twerps' that I used to hate so much... I think they're the closest friends I've had in years."

"I couldn't agree with you more."

Jessie glanced over. James was smiling again. It was a habit he seemed to have adopted in the last couple weeks, and it never failed to make her smile as well. When she'd first met him, she had been so sure he was nothing but a husk of the old James, too far gone for even her to reach, but every day he looked a little more alive, more like his old self – more mature, maybe, like they all were, but cheerful, and kind, and perhaps a little bit innocent, too. That aloofness and apathy he'd held himself up with earlier was dropping faster and faster with each passing day. She loved it.

"Wanna pay Brock a visit?" Jessie asked.

James nodded. "He's expecting us, I'm sure."

"Think they're getting sick of us yet?" she wondered suddenly, not wanting to wear out her welcome at the Harrison household.

"Judging by the way they're constantly inviting us over, I'd say we haven't become a nuisance yet." He grinned once more. "Zach still reveres me as something of a god, you know."

She rolled her eyes. "Try not to shatter the image too quickly, will you?"

He laughed just a bit, something Jessie loved hearing. It was getting easier for him to do all the time. There was a compassionate human behind the bounty hunter, and Jessie was going to bring it out even if it took her whole life.

_'But at this rate,'_ she thought happily, _'it won't even take a year.'_

xxx

Jessie knocked once, then let herself in. The door was usually unlocked, since Pewter was nearly crime-free these days. The minute she stepped over the doormat she felt a change in the atmosphere. Frita lay curled up in her usual chair, a book hanging over the armrest, but her eyes were fixed on the door leading to Kris' room. Gwen and Zach sat on the couch, arms hanging off drearily. Jessie thought she caught a sniffle in that area. Celia, too, seemed to be in the same daze; she wiped down the kitchen counter again and again, shooting glances at the same door Frita watched. They managed to look up when the duo came in, giving a weak hello and falling back into the original mood.

"Kris?" Jessie asked, knowing the answer.

Celia nodded, barely keeping herself composed. "He took a turn for the worst yesterday evening. Brock's been with him all night. You know when the fever hits one-oh-five that it won't be much longer—"

Kris' room door slowly creaked open. A haggard Brock walked out, closing it quietly behind him. He looked exhausted, but the predominant emotion was a pained look of sorrow, almost failure.

"Is he—?" Frita began, cutting herself off with a choked sob.

He pressed a hand to his forehead, managing the weakest of nods. Celia's hand flew to her mouth. She ran to her older brother, shrinking into a child again as she buried her head in his shirt, sobbing uncontrollably. The others soon followed, crying and clinging to their older siblings for comfort.

"He went peacefully," Brock assured them. "In his sleep without a sound."

Jessie and James didn't know what to do. Feeling out of place, they slid out the door and shut it noiselessly behind them. Once outside, Jessie leaned against the wall, looking up at the cloud-dappled sky. "Why does this keep _happening_ to them? Haven't they been through enough?"

"Maybe this is the end of it," James mused, though without much hope. "Perhaps no one else will catch it."

Jessie rubbed her temples. "I hope so, James. Oh, God, I really hope so."

xxx

"Ash," Misty murmured as the two walked down the street to the Harrison home. "I'm _really _starting to worry about Brock."

"You were 'really starting to worry about him' a week ago," Ash grumbled.

"It's worse now, though," she said, hugging her arms to her chest. "It's been over three weeks since the funeral, and the whole house still just feels _awful_. Everyone walks around like zombies, like… like they're too exhausted to try… or maybe like they just don't see the point anymore. Even Brock, who was so good about keeping everyone up before… I mean, he even forgot about his _birthday_, Ash! If I hadn't reminded him – and even then, when I suggested we have a little celebration, try to be happy for a while, he just sort of shrugged and went back to pretending like he was reading some book. It's just too sad…" She squeezed her arms tighter, shaking her head slowly. "It was never like this before. Brock used to write me, and I _know_ it wasn't like this before…"

"Well, what do you want _me_ to do about it?" Ash growled. "I don't have a magic wand. And besides, I don't see the problem with how they're acting. It's _sad_ when people die."

Misty shook her head again. "There's something wrong about this, though. It's like it's killing the whole family, a little bit at a time. I _know _'not healthy,' and this is what it looks like. So…" She pressed her lips together and nodded sharply. "So we've got to work extra hard to cheer them up today, all right? I know Jess and James, and Gary and Tracey – I know they've been trying, too, but maybe we just aren't trying hard enough. Maybe we've got to… I don't know, but…"

Ash sighed and rapped three times on the door before going in. Misty forced a smile and followed him, though she felt it slipping as soon as she glanced around the family room. Celia and Frita half-heartedly bent over books, Gwen doodling circles on a piece of paper, Zach with his eyes staring unseeing at the humming television… Misty felt her heart do a little wrench when Brock, stirring lunch in the kitchen, glanced up at them with that same exhausted expression he'd had for the last few weeks. She got a hint of a smile out of one side of his mouth – she seemed to be the only one who _could_ – but it promptly disappeared when he turned his attention back to the meal. "Hi," he murmured. "Haven't seen you in a couple days. What's, um… been up?"

Misty grabbed the weak lifeline and launched into a story about visiting a local restaurant with Gary and Tracey, and Gary's horror at finding nothing but middle-aged men and women serving in the place. It really wasn't all that funny, but she played it up and laughed anyway, eyes darting from family member to family member. They seemed as quiet as ever, and again she couldn't get anything but the barest hint of a smile out of Brock – and even _that_ only when he happened to look at her. Eventually she trailed off into silence, discouraged, angry at Ash for being no help at all and angrier at herself for being just as useless.

Unbeknownst to Misty's down-turned eyes, Celia watched the young woman with a thoughtful frown. After a few seconds of silence, she took a breath and looked to her siblings. "You know," she said, irritation thick in her voice, "I bet Kris is pretty mad at us right now."

Frita's head jerked up. "What makes you say that?"

"He _hated_ it when people got upset over him," she said. "Remember when he broke his ankle playing baseball? He was so annoyed at the rest of us for pampering him that he hobbled over to a friend's house and stayed there until the cast came off."

Zach chuckled without meaning to. "And when we went on that family vacation on Mount Moon, and he slid off the trail. We found him a little ways down, scratched and bruised – and hiking back up to meet us."

"I'm surprised you remember that," Celia said. "You couldn't have been out of diapers."

"It's about the only memory of Mom I've got," he explained. "I like to hang on to it."

Frita smiled to herself. "You think they're all together, somewhere?"

"I'm positive that they are," Brock said at last, quietly but with a ring of strength behind the words. He nodded to himself, then stepped out of the kitchenette, pressing a hand to Gwen and Zach's shoulders and trying a full smile for the first time in weeks. "So, why are we sitting around moping? If they're enjoying themselves, then why aren't _we_?"

"You _are_ supposed to mourn the dead," Ash reminded them, an annoyed edge in his voice.

"Oh, shut up," Misty snapped. "Brock's right, you know. I've been crying about my sisters for far too long, and you're even worse. I'm sure that wherever they are it's way better than here, and the only thing that's keeping them down is knowing _we're_ still all weepy about it. Of _course_ you're supposed to mourn the dead, Ash, but there's only so much time you can spend on it."

"Life goes on," Brock agreed, "and you just have to move forward, and keep doing the best that you can." He turned to the other Harrisons. "I don't know _how _I could've forgotten that. I'm sorry I've been so… like _this_ for so long. I'm sure it's been dragging you all down, too—"

"We were just as bad," Celia reminded him.

"Not you," Brock told her with a smile, snaking out his arms to hug his younger sister. "Thanks, Cel. For remembering what's important."

She shook her head. "Not me." She smiled, pulling out of his arms and pointing to Misty. "_Her_ crazy attempts to cheer us up were what finally snapped me out of it. I just thought, 'Geez, there're so many people who're worried sick about us. This isn't really fair to them, is it?' And that made me think of what _Kris_ would say about that, and I thought that, as long as he knew that we loved him, and that we missed him, then he'd…" Celia shrugged. "Anyway, thanks, Misty. Most people would've given up on us by now."

"Well, I always _was_ annoyingly stubborn," she said with a weak laugh.

"Stubborn and wonderful," Brock murmured, and Misty was a little taken aback when she shifted her gaze to meet his eyes and found him staring back at her with a smile of open admiration and adoration on his face.

Misty shifted under the surprising intensity of that look, and glanced away, fluttering over to the kitchenette. She poked her head in and sniffed disapprovingly. "Blech! Now I _know_ you've been in a funk – this smells _terrible_. Can we even _fix_ it, or should we just start over? Oh, never mind, I'll do it myself. I know how to cook a few things here and there, as long as you've got some boxes and cans for me to work off of…"

She flung open a drawer, rifling around through the kitchen utensils, though she didn't get very far before Brock and Celia came rushing in behind her, twin cries of, "Wait, we have a _system_ in here!" on their lips. Frita, Gwen, and Zach glanced at one another, then finally let their insides unwind and laughed aloud at the sounds of the miniature skirmish taking place in the kitchen.

Ash watched in amazement as the group fought and chuckled and teased one another, maybe not with as much enthusiasm as they might have before – perhaps it was even a little forced – but they were still trying. They were ready to miss their brother, and remember him, and, with those memories tucked away someplace quiet and tender, they were at last ready to move forward again. His eyebrows bunched tightly together as he stared at them, trying to understand, and to figure out why he had such a tight ball of heat in the middle of his chest… and then it struck him, and he felt such a strong wave of dizziness that he had to reach out and grab the couch behind him for balance.

"I don't want—!"

The words burst out of his mouth before he could stop them. As everyone's eyes turned to him, he looked down again, promptly cutting off his sentence. He could still feel them watching him, though, and the feeling only made his vertigo worse. He mumbled something about going out to the front porch, then shoved himself off the couch and half-staggered, half-ran to the doorway, opening it and closing it with a slam behind him. He slumped against the railing, pressing his head into his hands, taking gulping breaths as he tried to get the world to stop reeling. He was going to be sick. No, he was going to faint. No, he was going to do both. Or neither. Or…

"Ash?" He stiffened as Brock's voice called quietly behind him. The last person he wanted to see. The _only_ person he wanted to see. "Are you okay?"

'_What does it look like?' _ he wanted to snap, only he couldn't this time. Something else was taking hold of him, something he'd thought had withered away when the last important person had been ripped away from him. Something that made it impossible for him to be harsh to Brock, not right now anyway. So instead of coldness, he gave the truth. "Vomiting. Passing out. Maybe dying. I'll tell you when I know for sure."

For a moment, Brock's voice read pure horror. "Oh, gods, are you… are you catching _that_?"

"No," he said with a weak chuckle. Oh, if only it was something that simple. "Caught _that_ virus a while ago. Vermillion. Got treated. Not that."

He breathed a deep sigh of relief. "Then what's wrong?"

Ash hesitated, because he wasn't quite sure, either. What _was_ wrong? He couldn't find an exact answer, only it felt like – it felt like the bottom had just dropped out of the world, and that it was somehow his fault. _'My fault?'_ he repeated, turning the phrase over in his head. _'My fault… My fault… My fault…'_

"Oh, I get it," he said, then giggled weakly. "_This_ is what killing somebody feels like." Brock said nothing. Maybe he knew what Ash meant. Maybe he agreed with him. At any rate, saying it made it a little easier to bear. Ash took a breath, dropped one hand to the railing, let the other one slide down so it was covering his mouth. "I'm sorry, Brock. If not for me, Kris wouldn't've—"

"Don't you _dare_," Brock snapped back, so harshly that Ash jerked his head around to stare at his old friend. He didn't look angry, though, or at least not _accusing_. Ash couldn't decide if that made him feel better or worse. "I don't blame you, so don't even start with that."

"But if I'd gone to the Elite earlier, then—"

"I didn't say that you couldn't have saved him," Brock interrupted evenly, calm once again. "But you can't apologize for it, because _I_ don't blame you." Ash stared at him, watching with baffled eyes as Brock walked up to the railing, pressing his own hands to the bar and looking out over the Pewter street. "If I've learned anything from this stupid war, it's that blaming people, even yourself, is one of the most dangerous things you can do. It makes people defensive, angry, irrational… even crazy. So I try not to do it anymore." He chuckled weakly. "Of course, I still slip up once in a while – like these past few weeks, when I _somehow _decided it was my fault that Kris and everyone else had died. And maybe I am a little responsible for it. And maybe you are, too. But _blaming_ ourselves for it isn't going to do any good. It's just going to make us stupid."

Ash closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could feel the dizziness sliding away a little bit. He still felt about as weak as a newborn, though.

"…To see anyone else die," Brock said suddenly.

It forced Ash to look up again. "Huh?"

"That's what you were going to say, wasn't it? 'I don't want,'" he said, repeating Ash's frantic burst from inside. "Isn't that how it was going to end?" Ash nodded once before looking away again, pressing his forehead to the railing. Nope – still sick. He nearly jumped when he felt a weight press against the top of his head, but relaxed again when he realized it was just Brock's hand. "You're not a bad kid, Ash. You're brash and stubborn and angry at – well, I'm starting to think _everything_, but you're not a _bad_ kid. That's why I forgave you after that first night – and why I'm going to keep forgiving you when you do stupid stuff. Misty's the same way." His voice grew a little quieter, and maybe a little sadder. "Probably more so." The lightness returned again as he removed his hand from his friend's hair. "So don't vomit, or pass out, or die out here, okay? There _are_ people who'd worry about you." He chuckled. "And besides, my landlord would have a fit."

"Mm," Ash murmured, raising his head again. "But I think I'm gonna go back to my apartment. I really _don't_ feel good. Maybe it was the smell of your crappy cooking." Brock snorted out a laugh and Ash almost managed one with him. "Um… could you walk Misty back to our place later? She pretty obviously wants to spend the day here, and she's afraid of being alone – at night."

If Brock noticed the way Ash fumbled with the words "at night," as if they were a hurried afterthought, he didn't let it show. "Sure. Take care of yourself, all right?"

Ash nodded once, listening as Brock turned and headed back to the doorway. He heard the doorknob turn and spoke suddenly, not at all sure if he should ask his next question but knowing just as surely that he had to. "Brock?"

"Yeah?"

"If you… had a chance to stop this war, but…" he swallowed hard, pressing shaking hands to his mouth again, "but to do it, you had to put the rest of your family's lives on the line… would you do it? Risk them all for the rest of the world, I mean?"

Brock chuckled again. "That's an easy one. Of _course_ I'd risk them. They'd never forgive me if I didn't."

He waited a second, but when Ash said nothing more he went back into the apartment, closing the door quietly behind him. Ash opened his eyes, peering out at the afternoon view of Pewter city, with the wall rising up like a constant reminder of the battles still being fought on some distant field, somewhere. He took a breath, trying to feel that "hope" that Celia had talked about, that Misty had explained, that Brock and Gary – though he'd never admit the second one – had shown him. He couldn't feel it, not really, but…

'_But I think,' _he said to no one but himself, _'that maybe I want to try… a little...'_

xxx

Three days later Gwen caught the telltale cough of someone stricken with Quiana's virus. Her fever blossomed a few days later, and with mounting sadness she was put in quarantine.

"Not that it'll make a difference," Misty snapped. She had worked herself into a good rage that morning, and was making Ash, Gary and Tracey well aware of it. "For heaven's sake, how much suffering can a single family take?"

Ash kept his back to her, staring out Tracey and Gary's apartment window. Frost was forming on the window; a sure sign that winter wasn't too far off. He took a slow, even breath, closing his eyes to the traces of winter. "I'll be leaving in a few days."

"Figures," Tracey muttered, flipping from static to static on the mostly worthless television.

"So soon? You must have seen something you _really_ hated about us," Misty spat venomously. She waved a hand in his direction. "Fine, run away from the problem, see if I care. I didn't think you'd change – men never _do_ - but it was worth a try. Stupid me, for thinking a selfish jerk like you—"

"You win," he interrupted.

She stopped mid-rant. Tracey looked up. Even Pikachu, dozing on the windowsill, perked up his ears and stared at his master. Misty struggled to find her words again. "I… I what?"

"You win," he repeated. "I'm going to the Elite's hideout to get help and do what I can to stop the war."

"How do you plan on doing that?" Tracey asked. "More bombs?"

"Peace talks, treaties, stuff like that," Ash answered. "I don't think there're any countries out there who _really _want this to keep going on, it's just that nobody knows how to open the door for compromise. Maybe, if the Elite, who aren't really allied with _any_ nation, do it, then…"

"That's gotta be the biggest load of bull I've ever heard."

All eyes turned to a sulking Gary. He hadn't been in a very good mood - Tracey suspected the cold weather had brought some stiffness to his war wounds, reminding him yet again of his disability - and seemed almost to be looking for a fight.

"How's that?" Misty asked, ready to give him the battle he requested.

"You think Kanto's the only place that's been screwed over by this war?" He laughed wryly. "I been everywhere from Quiana to the Marabu Islands and it all looks exactly like this. Hell, I've _caused_ some of this. Every time you shoot down a plane you know someone's parent or sibling or child might not be coming home, but you do it anyway, 'cause you gotta protect you and yours. The friends fighting with you, and somewhere miles away, the people back home." He tapped out an annoyed pattern into the table with his fingertips. "But why do they keep _ordering_ everyone to do it, huh?" His tapping fingers turned into a fist, and he pounded it into the table with a vengeance. "Because there isn't a damn world leader out there who actually gives a shit about what happens to this planet. It's just one big, long pissing match to see who can kill who faster, and to hell with the rest. They don't care about the suffering and sacrifices – for them, it's just a name on a map and a certain leader who attacked them first."

"There's… some truth in that," Tracey agreed reluctantly.

"There has to be _something_ we can do, though," Misty insisted.

"You wanna know how this is gonna end?" Gary snapped. "Two ways. One: we run out of money and materials for weapons. Unlikely – people _always_ find new ways to kill each other. Two: the governments stretch themselves so thin that they snap and collapse. And then we're talking _civil _wars, everywhere you wanna look. Maybe 'till there's nothing left. Game over. A couple of peace talks aren't gonna solve anything. So unless you figure out how to disable all the bombs, this little rock we call home'll be toast in a few more years."

"I don't believe that," Misty growled, fists clenched at her sides. "At one time, yes, I may have agreed with you. But if _this _stubborn twit—"

"Thanks, Mist," Ash drawled.

"—can change his mind I know that someone else will, too. No matter what country or what leader, if they understand how useless this is, they'll turn away from it. _Their _lives are at stake too, you know."

He shrugged. "Don't get me wrong: I _hope_ you're right, and you're more than welcome to give it a shot. I just think you're wasting your time."

"I have to try," Ash said. "I don't know why - even I can't explain it – but for some reason I have to get this war to end."

Misty smiled slightly. "Maybe you've still got that heart of yours after all."

"I take it you'll be coming with me," Ash assumed after a moment of silence.

She sighed. "I've followed you to the bowels of Hell and back again. Something as simple as climbing a mountain in winter ought to be a breeze. And, if I don't, you'll just get yourself killed." Misty waved a hand dismissively. "If there's one thing I've learned, it's that Ash Ketchum can't do _anything_ without a couple people backing him up."

"You're too kind," Ash said dryly. "Should we go tell the others? I bet they'll be thrilled."

Misty agreed, and they began to leave. Having nothing better to do, Tracey followed, and Gary with him a few moments later. After a short walk they arrived at Brock's home. Ash opened the door without knocking and surveyed the scene. Nothing much had changed - chores carried out, home-schooling done - but the empty seat beside Zach was a painful reminder of the stricken Harrison family.

"Look who's here," Celia said, trying to smile. "We haven't seen you in a few days - thought you skipped town."

"Ash and I are about to," Misty said, practically glowing. "He's going back to the Elite. Ash is finally going to end this war!"

Brock's face broke into another of his rare, genuine smiles. "It's about time. Good thing to hear, too. Are all four of you going?"

"I am," Tracey said.

"Just Misty and me," Ash said at the same time. He whirled on Tracey. "_You're_ coming?"

He shrugged. "I don't have anything better to do. And, like Misty said, you always _did_ need a couple people to back you up."

"I suppose I should be grateful." It was the closest thing to a thanks Tracey would get. Ash nodded in Gary's direction. "You're tagging along too, then?"

He mirrored Tracey's shrug. "It's a stupid idea, but that doesn't mean I'm not _curious_ about it. Yeah, I'm coming, too."

Misty rubbed her hands together. "Good. It'll be a lot easier traveling through Viridian Forest with a few extra people. Bandits don't usually attack groups... right?"

Ash only laughed darkly.

"We ought to make plans and get supplies," Tracey cut in. He seated himself on Brock's sofa, pulling out a notepad.

"Always prepared," Gary chuckled. "You're worse than a boy scout."

"We'll all need bags, and... protection would be nice, but I'm guessing Gary and I won't be able to find anyplace in town that sells guns," Brock's nod confirmed his guess, "so we'll have to make do with a few Pokemon apiece, I guess…" Tracey trailed off, scribbling a few more things onto his list, then glanced up again. "Okay... I can carry all the equipment for pitching a tent... which one of you guys'll be designated cook?"

"Brock will."

All eyes jerked up to see Celia standing behind the sofa.

"What do you mean, 'Brock will'?" Zach asked, breaking into the adult's conversation.

"Exactly what I said," she replied. "He's going with you."

Brock frowned, confused. "But Celia, I can't leave. I've got a job—"

"That I can take over for you," she insisted.

"What about Gwen? Someone's gotta look after—"

He was cut off again. "I'll take care of that, too. I spent a lot of time around that virus and I haven't caught it yet. I'm willing to risk that." Her look softened. "The only way this is going to stop is if we find the medicine, and we'll never find it sitting around here in Pewter. Maybe, on the way, or once you find the Elite..." She nodded, resuming her determined attitude. She walked over to the small group, facing her older sibling and pressing a hand affectionately to his shoulder. "Besides, you're miserable here. I know, you feel the need to play big brother, and I respect you for sticking by us, but I'm not ten anymore. And Ash and his friends aren't going to do anyone any good if they starve along the way. Trust me: they need you a lot more than we do right now."

He opened his mouth to object, but stopped. After a few moments, Brock managed a smile. "There isn't an argument for that, is there?"

Misty's face lit up. "You're coming with us?"

"Do I even have a choice?" He jerked a thumb at Celia. "She'll feed me to the Ursarigs if I don't."

Ash half-sighed. "Wonderful. I'll be bringing a whole army to the Elite's front door at this rate." He sat cross-legged on the floor, taking the pad from Tracey's hands. "All right, then, we'll leave tomorrow morning at seven o'clock sharp. Now, who will bring what...?"

xxx

Early the next morning Ash, Misty, Gary, and Tracey met Brock on his front porch. He had some good news for them. "There's a man on the outside of town who owns a stable," he explained, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and shouldering his pack. "I called him last night and he told me he'd loan us some of his animals."

"Sounds like a good plan," Tracey agreed.

"We only get to use them to the edge of Viridian," Brock went on. "He doesn't want them to get killed in the forest."

"How thoughtful," Gary said sarcastically. "I guess it's better than walking, and it'll cut the time a little shorter."

Celia, the only other Harrison awake, gave Brock a farewell hug and wished the others a safe journey. "Good luck. I hope everything goes well."

"Um, Celia?" Ash asked suddenly, shifting in the doorway. "Could I… ask a favor?" She looked to him, waiting for more, and he scratched the ears of the Pikachu perched in his customary spot on his shoulder. "Would you mind looking after him for me? It's just – I don't know what's going to happen now, and the only really _safe_ place in this country is Pewter, these days, so… I just thought, if you wouldn't mind…"

She smiled. "I'd be happy to."

Celia held out her hands to the little animal, who watched her reluctantly. Pikachu looked to Ash, who nodded once, running a hand down his back again with a tenderness that he had yet to show to any of his human companions. Sensing the silent request – though never a command – Pikachu nodded and hopped from Ash's shoulder and into Celia's open arms. Ash smiled. "Thanks." It was hard to tell if he was saying it to the girl or the Pokemon. He nodded, turning towards the rest of the group, looking both relieved and a little sad. "Well, we ready?"

Brock nodded and led the way to the stables, keeping up a stream of light chatter with the others, though Ash didn't seem much in the mood for talk. In a few minutes two human shapes fell into step on either side of them. It was still dark, and none of them noticed until the female on the right spoke.

"Don't you think it's rude when people leave without so much as a good-bye?"

The male nodded. "Very."

"Unless, do you think, they knew it wouldn't be a good-bye?"

"In that case," he remarked, "it wouldn't be rude at all, and we'd have to forgive them for the accusation."

It was Jessie and James, of course.

"Let me guess: you're joining this parade?" Ash queried.

"Seems like you're cursed to have us follow you forever," Jessie teased. "Last night Brock mentioned you were leaving Pewter, and we couldn't resist the urge to tag along."

"Do you have a reason, or are you just along for the ride?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact, we do," James picked up the conversation. "I've seen your level of alertness, and, with all due respect, it has me worried. To put it bluntly, the world couldn't be in less stable hands. I'm coming along to make sure you don't get yourselves killed." Without thinking he put a hand to his gun, making his point.

"And since he's my bodyguard, I figure I ought to stay with him," Jessie went on. "It's no good hiring someone if you're going to be miles away from them."

"Jessie also happens to be decent at self-defense. Between the two of us we ought to be able to keep you in one piece long enough to reach this valley," James added. He overlooked the crew. "How many of you is a different question entirely. I assume you all have legitimate reasons for coming."

"Brock's the only one," Misty laughed. "He's feeding us. The rest of us are sorta just tagging along."

"Extra pairs of hands might come in handy," Ash thought aloud. "Especially if we get in a fight with someone."

A few minutes later they reached the stables. Brock knocked once on the small house's door. There were a few noises inside, then the sounds of two sets of heavy footsteps. A middle-aged man answered the door, his wife peeking over his shoulder. "Who's out there, ringing my bell this early?" He noticed Brock. "Oh, of course. I almost forgot you was coming to pick up some animals." He grabbed a key from a hook near the door. "Follow me."

He led the way to a set of stables near the city limits. Opening the doors wide, he looked the group over as they walked in. "Ah, seven of you, are there? Any of you experienced Pokémon trainers?" Gary and Ash spoke up. "Right, then, I'd best give you the rowdier ones." He saddled the two with big Rapidash stallions. His eyes went to the girls. "Now for th' ladies." A couple mare Ponytas were selected. To Brock and Tracey. "Over here." They were given a duo of smaller Rapidash. Last came James. "Hm. You're a bit tall for a small one. I s'pose I can trust you with one of the larger ones." He patted the neck of a mare. "This is Aries. She's a good, gentle girl, so don't worry about a thing. I'll go get the saddles while you get used to th' animals." He left shortly.

Ash and Gary handled the big animals well, though Ash couldn't help but snidely remark that Gary seemed a bit out of practice – to which Gary couldn't help but reply that he'd been a little busy getting shot at the last four years, and what had _Ash_ been up to during all that time? Tracey and Brock ignored the snappish remarks and immediately made friends with their own Rapidash, who seemed to have agreeable tempers. The Ponytas given to Jessie and Misty were as gentle as two Pokémon could get – neither had a problem. James didn't get very near to his, but Aries seemed to like him well enough. Jessie was going to ask why he wasn't making friends when the stableman came back. Not five minutes later he had them all ready to go.

"They'll come back once ya let 'em loose," he explained, patting Jessie's Ponyta on the side. "Don't override 'em, though." He held out a palm to Brock. "That'll be a hundred dollars, if you don't mind. I have a household to support, ya know."

After paying every cent – he made sure to count it several times – the group of travelers were led around to the side gate and let out. With a parting wave to the stableman, they turned to trot off just as the sun was coming up over the hill.

"Hey, Ash," Gary began, coming up next to the Champ. "Exactly where _is_ this place we're going?"

"In the mountains," Ash answered briskly, covering a yawn.

"Obviously." Gary rolled his eyes. "I'm a soldier; I need details."

Ash seemed a little uneasy. "What sort of details?"

"Distance, approximate time, weather conditions, location on a map, etcetera."

He rubbed the back of his head; luckily no one could see him blushing in the dim light. "Well... Viridian Forest is a two-day walk. From the village at the foot of Silver, it's another couple days up, then from there give-or-take a five-day journey into the heart of the Crimson Range. So…" he shrugged. "You do the math."

"But at this time of year the weather's going to be an ice hell, right?"

"Probably."

"We're talking maybe a week and a half of tramping through frozen lakes and ten feet of snow?"

"Possibly."

"Wonderful," came Gary's sarcastic reply, and he unintentionally reached a hand down to rub at his left leg.

"No one's forcing you to come," Ash reminded him. "If you're _scared_ or something…"

Gary glared back a challenge at him, but before he could retort Misty rode up on Ash's left, speaking hurriedly to keep the peace. "Winter on the way and _we're _going on a hiking trip. You would pick the most _difficult_ time of the year, wouldn't you?"

Ash grinned. "If only to piss you off."

xxx

Jessie patted Aquarius' neck and turned her eyes to the fields bathed in morning sunlight. She glanced over to see if James was enjoying the ride as much as she was – and couldn't believe what she saw. Her comrade was clinging to the horse's neck, trying desperately to stay on. Aries trotted along smoothly enough, but you would have thought he was riding a wild Tauros. Jessie couldn't stand it. She put a hand to her mouth and laughed.

He shot her a look. "Well, I'm glad _you're_ enjoying this." He scrambled to keep from sliding off. "What's so funny?"

"It's just, seeing the king of composure looking so awkward..." She burst into another fit. "If it wasn't you, you'd be laughing too."

"I doubt it," he sniffed, trying his best to stay upright and failing miserably.

"I guess some people just can't ride," Tracey remarked, coming up next to them. He checked to see how high up the sun was. "Pretty good lighting. We could probably go at a run." He looked to their unofficial leader. "Sound like a plan, Ash?"

The Champ grunted, kicking his Rapidash into a fast gallop. In a moment the others were following his lead. Aries, seeing her companions moving quicker, also sped up. James did what he could, but there was just no way to stay on without looking like an idiot. Sighing and cursing, he hugged the Rapidash's neck and wondered how much longer he'd have to endure this.

xxx

Around ten in the morning they reached the outermost regions of Viridian Forest. Patting the horses in thanks, the travelers unpacked their supplies from their animals and set them on a homeward course.

"I was kind of attached to that Pisces," Gary commented. "Might even miss him."

"I certainly won't," James growled, dusting himself off. "You're such an easy target on one of those things – can't wield a gun at all."

"Actually, a lot of people can," Jessie teased. "You have to stop hugging the horse, though."

He blushed crimson and snatched up his bag, stalking off into the forests. "Shouldn't we start moving? It's easier to travel through Viridian in the morning than after noon – most bandits don't wake up until then."

As they started their long journey, Misty leaned over to Jessie and giggled. "You're a very talented woman."

"Hm? What makes you say that?"

"You're the only person who can make James blush!"

* * *

**7/18/08**

**On Music (Or, "Turn-of-the-Century Tunes")  
**Slightly random thing to talk about, which is probably why it's pretty short, but during those long nighttime hours I spent typing out _2k5_ on my rusty old Windows 3.1, I was playing a series of CDs that sort of became the story's soundtrack. So I thought I'd share. The albums were:

Vertical Horizon – _Everything You Want  
_Three Doors Down – _The Better Life  
_Goo Goo Dolls – _Dizzy Up the Girl  
_Matchbox Twenty – _Mad Season  
_Barenaked Ladies – _Maroon  
_And, occasionally, the Red Hot Chili Peppers' _Californication  
_(Happily, all of these bands are still together, and most of them still enjoy a fair amount of popularity, so hopefully I don't have a bunch of young readers scratching their heads and going, _'Who the heck are those guys?')_

I didn't have any real reason for making this my running play list – they were just my favorite albums at the time… though over time certain songs began to feel like "theme songs" for the fic, like Three Doors Down's "Duck & Run," Matchbox Twenty's "Black & White People," Vertical Horizon's "Miracle," and Goo Goo Dolls' "Dizzy" (look up the lyrics and tell me honestly that it's not about Jessie!). So, if you feel like listening to some tracks while you're reading _2k5_, those're the albums I'd suggest – _especially_ the Vertical Horizon, 3 Doors Down, and Goo Goo Dolls ones. Pretty much the whole things fit _some_ character or scene or another. (So maybe I was inspired without realizing it? Could be! _(grin)_).

More profiles, as promised! And why not continue with everybody's favorite breeder…

**Brock Harrison**

**The Basics  
**-Though I know there's been some debate about Brock's age in the TV series, based on his male voice actors in both the US and Japan, his height, and his girl-craziness, I've always theorized fifteen. This makes him twenty-two years old at the beginning of the fic, but (in my universe) he turns twenty-three on November 15th, which does fall during this chapter, so he's technically twenty-three now.  
-Brock is the one who's probably changed the least as far as appearance goes. He's grown a few inches (about 5'10") and he's filled out, especially in the shoulders and chest, but people who haven't seen him in a few years can recognize him immediately. He still wears his wiry hair short, perhaps a shade shorter than he used to.  
-I gave him the last name Harrison, which was one of the generally accepted surnames by the Pokefan community at the time I wrote this (the other was Slate, I think). Maybe it's changed since then.  
-In my world, Brock's parents were originally from Tenuto (this is my explanation for his family's darker skin color, slanted eyes, and wiry hair). His father was raised entirely in Kanto, but his mother immigrated in her teens (and yes, by the way – I hold to US Indigo Canon in that she passed away when Brock was about thirteen). She was bilingual and hung onto a lot of her home country's culture. Brock emulates that in some of his eating and cooking habits, as well as in his religious beliefs.  
-Before the war, he traveled with Ash up until his victory at the Indigo League. During Ash's busy opening months with the Elite, he and Misty stayed in Pallet Town to study with Professor Oak.

**Wartime History**  
-Brock returned home as soon as he heard news of the war. He moved back in with his family and re-enrolled in the local high school (in my universe, by the way, all the kids were taking online courses during their travels). He made friends quickly, and even had a girlfriend for a while (she thought his fumbling and over-enthusiasm were sort of cute). Finally spending time with a girl was what at last broke him of his awkward hormones, by the way _(haha_). He was preparing to graduate when…  
-An attack from a terrorist group burned half of Pewter City to the ground. Brock lost three siblings during the chaos of the fires and rioting (_Pewter's Lament_, a prequel story located on my old website, details all of this). After the attack, a lot of people moved away out of fear, including Brock's girlfriend. A few weeks later the local government raised money to build a wall around the rest of Pewter, turning the city into a small fort.  
-Due to tensions with his father (see Relationships), Brock moved out of his family's apartment as soon as he turned eighteen. He lived by himself for almost two years.  
-When Quiana's virus struck Pewter, Brock was actually the first in his family to come down with the illness. Panic had cleaned the city out of medicine, but his family was able to buy half a bottle from somebody in town. There was enough left that Brock, half-dead by the time they got it, was able to fight off the virus and survive, but the next victim – his father – was not so lucky.  
-After his father passed away, Brock moved back into his family's apartment to take care of his siblings, particularly the three (Erik, Millie, and now Kris) who have one-by-one come down with the virus. He got a job working as a wall guard because it paid better than his previous job as a lawyer's assistant. In his spare time (which isn't much), he tries to take college-level classes with the remaining few professors who still live in Pewter. This is where we meet him.

**Relationships**  
-Brock disliked his father (for obvious reasons), but his dislike turned to loathing after he lost his three siblings during the Pewter attack. He blamed Flint for letting them die, and was very vocal about that belief. He moved out of the family home because of this. After Flint later risked and lost his life to take care of Brock while he was sick with the virus, Brock came to forgive his father. They made peace with each other right before Flint passed away.  
-Despite the tensions with his father, Brock remained intimate with and protective of his siblings. He and Celia have always been especially close, to the point where Celia risked catching the virus in order to visit him when he was sick (Celia is 18, by the way; there should be a 19-year old brother named Walker between her and Brock, but he was killed in the attack).  
-Brock and Ash got into a fight shortly after the attack on Pewter. After his father died, Brock realized the idiocy of holding a grudge and called Ash. The two made up, but their friendship has never been as warm as it once was.  
-Misty came down to visit Brock once about a year after the attack on Pewter. They continued to exchange very candid letters with one another until the bombing of Cerulean. Brock feared that Misty had died in the blast.

**General Ramblings**  
I've always liked Brock, though never in the fangirl-ish squealing way that a lot of female Pokefans did. I tended to think of him more as that friend that you love but tease all the time (this was made even more entertaining because my best friend _was_ one of those fangirls, haha). And, though I did enjoy lovingly poking fun at both him and his eyes in my lighter PokeFics, he was also the only "twerp" who I ever did anything in-depth with outside of _2k5_ (though I don't think any of those fics were ever published anywhere). This made writing for him _very _simple.

To me, Brock was always the most cool-headed of the major characters, the most intelligent in most instances, and the kindest as well. He could also get very protective about the people and things he cared about, and his temper tended to peek through during those moments. Overall, though, he radiated "big brother" warmth. I took those qualities and just aged them a little, adding some maturity to the picture so he _wasn't _constantly falling over the local women (heheh). And, though in some ways he's the luckiest of the characters because he's still got half his family, he's also the only person who's really had to deal with tragedy for the entire duration of the war – while at the same time supporting the remainder of his dwindling siblings, both economically and emotionally – so in other ways I think those ordeals have aged him the _most_ out of everyone. In a way, he's sort of stepped from "big brother" to "father" over the years, and I always think of him as the one in the group most ready to have kids of his own. So, maybe he can look forward to that when and if the war ever ends (_smile_). I hope everyone's pleased with my portrayal of the loveable Senor Squinty (hehe, my personal nickname), and let's hope both he and his family can find a happy ending through all of this!

Tracey will likely be the next profile, since he doesn't have much in the Big Secret department like some of the other characters do. He's got some great war stories to tell, though, so look forward to that!

'Till Next Time! – Dee :)


	5. The Assassin

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Pokemon Universe, otherwise I'd have spent my last paycheck on a private yacht instead of on college textbooks (Incidentally, four years' worth of college textbooks are actually _more_ expensive than a private yacht.) (P.S. I may have made that last bit up.) The story is mine, as are the couple of original characters.

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and violence.

* * *

**Chapter Five: The Assassin  
**James' eyes darted across the foliage. He had a bad feeling about this forest. Heeding Midnight's warning a bit too well, he stayed close by Jessie, one hand always near his weapon. He wasn't about to let her get killed… once had been enough...

"...James? Ja-a-ames?"

He snapped back to reality to find Jessie searching his face curiously. "Something wrong?" he asked.

"I was about to say the same thing," she said dryly. "You okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"For one, you've been in your own world all afternoon. Secondly, your hand's practically on the trigger and your eyes won't leave the sides of the road. Thirdly, if you walk much closer to me you'll run me down." She followed where his gaze had been. "Is... someone out there?"

Misty sucked in air. Ash and the others glanced around suspiciously.

James debated on whether he should let his hunch be known. "No," he lied after a moment. "Nothing. I just tend to get this way in Viridian."

"Oh?" was all Jessie said. She let the matter drop, knowing perfectly well he wasn't being truthful. No matter; he'd tell her when he was ready.

James resumed his previous frame of mind, keeping all attention turned to the forest. There was no doubt about it - someone was definitely following them. But who? It wasn't a bandit; they made a lot of noise and didn't care about being seen or not. Whoever was out there walked soundlessly; James only knew someone was there through a sort of sixth sense gained with experience. It had to be an assassin. Which meant each second they walked free was a threat to Jessie's life. If he could only figure out _where_ they were...

James caught the glint of the weapon almost too late. As soon as his eye found the glare, he heard the soft hiss of a laser gun whisper through the forest. Letting instinct take over, James shoved Jessie down and fired into the forest at the same spot from which the attack had come.

The enemy's shot ripped into James' shoulder, but he barely seemed to notice it. James' shot, however, was a dead-on hit. There was a soft thud, as the attacker's body slammed into the ground.

"What the hell!" Gary shouted, whipping around when he heard Jessie hit the dirt.

James stood, holstering the weapon and walking over to the prone enemy. Jessie lay still for a moment, getting her breath back and trying to figure out what had just happened. Brock was the first person to snap out of his shock. "Is he dead?"

James shook his head. "Stunned. I had it on half power." He knelt down beside the figure. "And it's a she."

Brock trotted over and helped James pick the female assassin up. As they brought her back to camp, her hood fell away, revealing a dark-skinned face framed by silky, black hair pulled back in a low ponytail. James seemed familiar with the face, as he barely glanced at it before flicking his gaze down to her injury. Despite the gun being at half power, it had torn through her cream-colored shirt, and the woman was burned along the side of her abdomen. Tracey unrolled his sleeping bag, gesturing for them to lay her on it. Once this was done, James kneeled down next to her. "The heat from the gun cauterized her wound, but we need to bandage it up just to be safe. Do any of you know how to treat a burn? It's essentially the same thing."

"I don't, but… I do have a First-Aid kit," Brock spoke up. He dug around until he pulled out the little white box. "I brought it in case anyone got hurt."

Gary gestured to James' own wound. "Uh, you want me to handle this? You've got your own problems."

James glanced at his shoulder and finally seemed to notice the stabbing pain shooting from it. "Hm? Oh, good idea." He picked at a piece of singed cloth that circled his open wound, wincing when he touched the burnt area. "Shame hers was on full power."

"Need some help?" Jessie had come over after her momentary shock. "It'd be hard to take care of that on your own." He nodded, managing a flicker of a smile and a thank you.

As the quiet jobs were completed, Ash and Misty joined the rest of the group. Ash checked his watch, then glanced up at the sun sinking into the trees. "Guess we might as well set up camp here, since it doesn't look like _she'll_ be moving around anytime soon."

The others agreed, so those who weren't busy with their own tasks set up cooking equipment and pitched tents against the cold weather.

"Hey Gar', need any help with that?" Tracey asked after he'd gotten one of the tents put together.

"Nah. I saw Erika do stuff like this enough times. I should be able to figure it out." He used a clip to set the light bandage in place, careful to make sure he hadn't bound it too tightly against the tender flesh. "Heh! Not bad for a beginner."

James thanked Jessie again as she too finished up. "Is Midnight awake yet?" he asked Gary.

"Who, her?" Gary pointed to his 'patient.' "Not yet. If she's still out now, I'd hate to see that gun at full power."

"Being at the end of a shot isn't too pleasant either," James muttered, swallowing another grimace but unable to hide the paleness in his face.

"Hey Brock, got any aspirin in that magic kit?" Jessie wondered.

"Oh, I do," Misty volunteered. After a moment of rummaging in her bag she pulled the bottle out. "I always carry some. It's like a savior on your period."

"Thanks for the extra info, Mist," Tracey said with a little chuckle. The nervous laughter rippled through the clearing, everyone finally coming down from their adrenaline high.

The still form of the stranger assassin moved slightly, groaning.

"Hey, she's coming to," Gary announced.

The others crowded around, watching as their new guest and attacker's eyes slowly flickered open. She took in the scene with intelligent, almond-shaped amber eyes. The bounty hunter moved herself into a sitting position, flinching only slightly. She met and held James' gaze. "Congratulations, Jake," she said with just a touch of a lilting accent. "It seems the circle is complete, and _you _have bested _me_. So, now what? Are you going to kill me?"

"If that had been my intention I would have done it right the first time," came the impassive reply.

She looked down, feeling along the bandage. "...You know what happens now, then?"

"It doesn't. Not necessarily."

She shook her head slowly. "It's one of the rules I will continue to follow. I'm afraid there's no use arguing out of it."

James closed his eyes and frowned, pressing thumb and index finger to the bridge of his nose. "You know, Midnight, sometimes I wish you'd just killed me when you had the chance."

"I often have the same feeling."

Ash blinked several times, trying to understand the conversation and finding himself completely lost. Finally, he spoke up. "What did all that just mean?"

"I wouldn't mind knowing myself," Tracey grumbled. "They're speaking in riddles. Maybe it's a bounty hunter thing - I assume you are a bounty hunter... Midnight, is it?"

She looked at him for a moment, then at the others, then back to James. "I didn't realize you now traveled in a pack. What brought about the change?"

"I have my reasons for keeping company with them," he said, as he often did, replying without really answering.

"You know, most people find it impolite to be ignored," Misty said irritably. "I think Ash just asked you a legitimate question."

"Ash?" Midnight looked at the League Champ. "Ah, the child from the bar in Pewter. I assume you remember me as well?"

He nodded. "Yeah, the one who helped us out. Now, give me some answers. I want to know who you are, what you're doing here, what your connections are with James, and what the hell all that stuff you just said to each other meant."

She narrowed her eyes. "_You_ ask too many questions. Have you ever heard the saying, 'patience is a virtue'?"

"Thousands of times."

"You ought to pay more attention to what people tell you, then."

"Just leave her alone," Gary interrupted. "She'll tell us when she's ready. I mean, c'mon, she just got shot. Give her a sec to catch her breath."

The corners of the stranger's eyes crinkled into a smile, though the rest of her face remained cool and unreadable. "You should listen to that one. _He's_ sensible."

Ash snorted, resorting to a childish half-pout. "Is dinner ready yet?"

"Just about," Brock told them, stirring a stew in a pot over the fire. "Tea's done, if you want some." He jerked his head to a pitcher and some cups. "Help yourself."

They took his offer, quenching a day of walking's thirst. Jessie brought a cup over to Midnight, who accepted it with a piercing stare. "Thank you... Anita, correct?"

"My real name is Jessie. Your, um, target."

"Yes. You're rather lucky you had Jake to keep an eye on you, or I strongly suspect you would have been dead now." She took a sip of the drink, snapping sharply in Brock's direction. "You, cook. What's your name?"

He stiffened slightly. "Brock. Brock Harrison."

"Did you make this tea?"

"Uh, yeah. Is there a problem?" he asked nervously.

The same eye-smile from before. "None. It's excellent."

Brock visibly relaxed. "Oh… well, thanks."

"Think nothing of it. I give praise where praise is due." She faced Gary. "Now, did you and yours have something you wanted to know?"

Ash stiffened on the other side of the fire, but no one seemed to notice, least of all Gary, who replied, "Yeah, I guess I wouldn't mind knowing what you're connections are with James, uh... is Midnight your real name?"

"My birth name is Mariko, if you would prefer to call me that." She took another sip of the tea. "Yes, I can understand why you would be curious. Would you prefer to relay the tale, Jake? You may know it better than I."

He shifted, looking uncomfortable. "You go ahead. I'm going to retrieve your gun - we left it back in the forest, and I don't want it to fall into bandit hands." He left swiftly without waiting for her answer.

Jessie frowned after his disappearing form, but Mariko took his departure in stride. "Very well, then. I would say it began about five years ago. I was called upon to track down and kill a deserter by the name of James Morgan. It was a simple job, but I was bored and felt the need to give my skills some exercise. Shortly after I departed the camp, I received word of its massacre, but continued with my assignment since I always finish what I begin. I came upon this James soon enough - he made no attempt to cover his tracks - and found him in a forest in Johto.

"I cannot say what made me do what I did next. Perhaps it was the fact that, when I discovered this hopeless human, he cared nothing for what happened to him. He saw little difference between living and dying, at that moment. Perhaps I sympathized with him, something a bounty hunter should never do, but almost always will at least once in her life. Or perhaps I simply did not feel the need to waste my talents on such a pointless kill. Whatever the reason, I spared his life."

"After he deserted…" Jessie murmured to herself, her face clouded with concern and guilt, though the others were listening too closely to Mariko to notice.

"Now there is a rule," the female assassin continued, "within the code of the bounty hunters, that states that by sparing or saving a person's life they are indebted to you until that payment can be returned. It is one of the most revered laws, and one of the few I consistently follow. And so, quite unintentionally, I found myself in the company of a military deserter with a price on his head.

"Now, there was something in this James that I saw, that I felt, would turn him into a skilled hunter. Apathy for the kill is difficult to find, but when it _is _found it can produce a perfect assassin. The less one feels for one's targets – whether those feelings are of compassion or malice – the better." She paused to consider this for a moment. "He had not been born with it, I thought, but somewhere he had gained that coldness. I took advantage of it, and turned him into one of the deadliest and most successful assassins I have ever known.

"We traveled together until about a year ago, when Jake - I gave him the name of a recently-deceased assassin, since 'James Morgan' was a known deserter - repaid the debt he owed me. We went our separate ways, and had not seen each other since. Until recently, that is, when I was put on this case to take a certain Anita Lockheart's life. Fate seems to have put us in quite a vicious circle for, by sparing my life, I am now indebted to _him_, until that can be repaid." She took another sip of the tea. "And that is that. Is the food ready yet, Harrison?"

He blinked a few times, so caught up in the story that he'd completely forgotten about the food. "It has been for a while. I didn't want to interrupt you, but..." Numbly he passed out steaming bowls of soup to the other travelers.

James quietly walked back into camp, tossing the gun to Mariko and grabbing his own meal.

"That took a while," Jessie remarked, forcing lightness back into her voice. He made an incoherent noise, taking a small bite of food. Jessie suspected James had deliberately stayed out until Midnight had finished; the story must have brought up painful memories. She had to admit that it had opened a few doors that _she_ would have preferred to keep closed as well.

"Mariko, huh?" Tracey remarked between bites. "That's not a Kantan name."

She nodded. "Indeed it is not. I have lived in Kanto for over twenty years, but I am originally from Yumar." Gary's eyes narrowed. A couple seconds later he stood and left the camp, leaving a half-empty bowl behind. "Is there a problem?" Mariko asked, though she sounded unconcerned.

"Our hometown was destroyed thanks to Yumar," Ash said coldly. "I know how he feels - right now I'm planning a way to get you out of my camp as soon as possible."

"Ah." Mariko went back to her food. "Charming."

Tracey shifted nervously. "That... that isn't all." He immediately had the eyes of all upon him. "You see... we were... we were attacking Yumar when his plane got hit, and..." He fell silent.

"Yes, a sequence of events like that _would_ make you hate a nation, wouldn't it?" Mariko nodded her agreement. "In my own way I can understand the sentiment. My family was killed by Kantans when I was young. I eventually – and rather ironically - immigrated here... ah, but my history is unimportant." She glanced to the forest. "Will he return?"

"Once he cools down," Misty explained a little irritably. "Gary's got a temper, but it doesn't usually last very long. It might help if you were a little more polite to everyone, though."

"I'm not two-faced. Neither are you, from the sound of it." She looked at Ash when she said it. "But, like it or not, you will have to deal with me until I am killed or repay my debt."

"How do we know we can trust you?" Ash demanded. "What if you'll just kill Jessie in her sleep and go get your little bounty?"

"The code is sacred," James said quietly. "It sounds ridiculous, and it is, but some people insist on following it."

"You never were one to agree with it," Mariko commented. She looked towards Jessie. "So, you spared this woman's life. Is she following you as I will be?"

"Actually, James is working for her," Brock said, forcing cheerfulness and hoping the tense atmosphere would blow over. He was glad Tenuto, his parents' home country, was allied with Kanto. "And paying him all right, from the sound of it."

Mariko's eyebrows rose, the first real sign of emotion from her. "Oh? When by all rights _she_ should be working for him for nothing?" She shook her head slowly. "You always did have your own way of doing things. I shouldn't have expected less." Another sip of tea. "Which would explain why you were so careful to keep her alive."

James shrugged. "I don't fail my clients." Jessie choked on her drink. James' head snapped up. "Are you all right, Jess?"

She coughed a couple of times. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. It's just..." Her eyes darted from face to face – there were too many people around to ask something like that. She faked a laugh. "It's so good I drank it a little too quickly, I guess."

James and Tracey - ever the observer - gave her suspicious looks, but no one else seemed to notice. After a couple seconds of silence, James pointed back to one of the pitched tents, gesturing wordlessly to Jessie that he was going to change out of his ruined shirt. She nodded and waved him away, turning back to the group in time to hear Brock say, "Well, I guess we should figure out sleeping arrangements for the night. We've only got the three tents, so who _won't_ you mind being practically on top of all night?"

"Gary and I are used to bunking together," Tracey said, "so we'll take one. You want to cram in with us, Brock?"

"Oh, well, if we're doing trios, why don't you stay with me and Ash?" Misty offered with a smile. "It'll be just like old times that way."

Brock shifted, glancing nervously towards Mariko, who had drifted towards her own backpack and didn't seem to be paying much attention to the conversation. "Er… actually, I think I'll take Trace up on his offer. I don't think Mariko and Gary should be sharing a tent just yet."

"Oh." Misty's face fell a shade. "Yeah. That's a good point."

"What? So _I'm_ supposed to deal with her instead?" Ash snapped.

Jessie held up her hand. "If it's that big of a problem, Mariko can just shack up with James and me."

She jumped a little when her suggestion was met with calls of, "Oh, no, you don't have to do _that_," from the entire group. Jessie blinked, but before she could think of a good response the others had all returned to their camping gear, Ash with a couple of grumbling words about his newest tent mate. Misty scowled at him and turned towards Brock, offering to help him clean up the cooking supplies. Sensing a chance to catch the other woman alone, Jessie snatched a pot out of Brock's hands with a smile and a good-natured sigh. "You did all the cooking, so let someone else take care of clean-up. I can't burn _that_ at least."

Brock didn't argue, but just thanked Jessie with a smile and went to help Tracey set up sleeping bags in their tent. Misty raised a quizzical eyebrow at the former Rocket, but didn't say anything. Jessie set scrub brush to pot and got to work cleaning out the dinner grime. She waited until she was sure the others were well out of hearing range – and too preoccupied with their tasks to pay attention anyway – before she said quietly, "You know, if you want to take turns bunking with Mariko, I'm really okay with that."

Misty kept her eyes on the skillet in her one hand as she waved the offer away with the other. "That's nice of you, but don't worry about it. Ash'll get over it, and I know you and James want your privacy."

Jessie snorted out a little laugh. "Well, not nearly as much as you and Ash do."

Their twin scrubbing slowed and then pulled to simultaneous stops. Both women sat in silence for a long moment, then glanced up with wide eyes and said, "Wait, _what_?"

"I thought you and Ash were…" Jessie began.

"We all figured you and James were…" Misty fumbled.

They both trailed off, blinking bewildered eyes at one another, then finally seemed to understand what was going on. Between pressed lips the pair began to splutter, then their lips parted and they started to giggle, and finally they had to put their heads down and just laugh outright, fighting to keep the rest of the camp from hearing the muted merriment.

"So," Misty said through a giggle, "what made you think…?"

"I don't even _know_," Jessie admitted. "It's just that you came into town together, and you were sharing that apartment, and… Well, now that I think about it, I guess Brock kind of gave me that impression a few times when we talked, too." Misty's smile dropped into a puzzled frown at that, but before she could say anything Jessie leaned closer and whispered, "But seriously? _All_ of you thought that about James and me? For how long? Since we met up in Pewter?"

"Um…" Misty fought back another wave of giggles. "More like since about seven years ago." Jessie choked out a noise somewhere between a silent laugh and a shocked gasp, and Misty held up her pan and scrub brush defensively. "Well you were always together! And hugging, and holding hands, and finishing each other's sentences… I mean, what else _would_ we think? Of course Ash and I were pretty young, so we just sort of thought you two were dating. Brock had a few more 'detailed' ideas about your relationship, though." Jessie shook her head and snickered. "So you haven't? Like, at all?"

"We haven't had _sex_, if that's what you're asking," Jessie answered in her usual straightforward manner.

"Why not?" Misty asked. "He's so cute, and you guys always got along so well."

"That's just it, though. He is… was…" She shook her head and corrected herself again. "_…is_ my closest friend, and he was pretty much the only person I could ever really count on. I didn't want to risk losing that by even _thinking _about a physical relationship. Besides, I don't think he was ever interested." She laughed weakly. "Considering how high-maintenance I was as a friend, he must've been terrified of the thought of dating me. I'm not sure if there was a guy out there who could've survived it."

"Was, was, was," Misty repeated teasingly. "How about we fast-forward to the present? So, Older and Wiser Jessie, what about _is_?"

She shook her head, pressing her hands into her knees and standing. "Not even worth talking about. Even if I was interested – and I'm _not_ saying I am – it'd be a pointless conversation, because _he_ obviously isn't." She frowned. "Hell, sometimes I wonder if he even _likes_ me anymore." She shook her head and forced herself to sound lighthearted again. "So see? Not even worth talking about."

"Aw, not even hypothetically?"

Jessie wagged a good-natured finger in Misty's face. "Older and Wiser Jessie deals in nothing but concrete reality. It's made her an all-around nicer person. Start talking fantasies and you'll never get a dishwashing partner again." Misty sighed but didn't press the issue. As she stood, Jessie tried a smile and a joking remark to make peace. "Now of course, if _you_ ever want to talk fantasies about certain guys camped out in certain forests, I'm always happy to listen. We can kick James out of my tent and have a slumber party, nail-painting and pillow-fighting and everything."

Misty laughed, and someone else did, too. The two women jumped and whirled to find Gary heading towards them with an easy grin on his face. "Man, I go for a walk and miss all the good stuff. What's up? Something with fantasies?"

"Paint your nails and put your hair in pigtails, and _maybe_ we'll think about telling you," Jessie retorted. "So have you cooled down? Not gonna declare war on Mariko, are you?"

"Nah, I'm all right. I wasn't even really mad at _her_. Hearing that damn country's name just gets my fur raised sometimes. Where's everyone else?" Almost as if on cue the others began emerging from their separate tents. Gary ignored the twin calls of "You okay?" from both Brock and Tracey, though Jessie didn't miss the way the side of his mouth twitched irritably at the note of concern in their voices. "Good timing. Hey, I was wondering: You guys think we should set up a look-out or something? This forest _is_ supposed to be crawling with crooks."

"Excellent idea," Mariko said.

She opened her mouth to say more, but James cut her off with a hurried, "I'll take first watch."

"Then I will take second," Mariko said smoothly, as if she hadn't even noticed the interruption.

The rest of the watches were divided up with little trouble, then everyone bid each other a good night and split to their separate tents, leaving James alone. Not that he minded, of course. James hadn't had a _real_ peaceful moment in over a month, and he could use some time to think. He settled down near the center of the campsite, preparing to both daydream and remain alert to everything, as he had grown accustomed to doing. Before long his watch was almost up.

"You've broken two important rules."

He didn't have to turn to know who it was. "What do you want, Midnight?"

She ignored his question. "Forming friendships and joining outsiders."

"You mean 'people who aren't bounty hunters.'"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean," she said. "Remember? 'The friends you make today may become the ones you have to kill tomorrow.'"

"I've heard the saying." He tossed a twig into the fire. "I don't care about it. They only become your targets if you _want_ them to become your targets."

"Like that Jessie girl, hm?" James stiffened at the name, and Mariko knew she had struck a nerve. "Why did you let her live? You've never done that for anyone before." He greeted her with silence, so she pressed him even further. "Are you in love with her, Jake? Is that what this is about?"

"And if I was? What of it?" he snapped back.

Mariko's voice softened, though the change was so small it was almost unnoticeable. "You should give her up. She died once – who's to say it won't happen again? Do you want to go through all of that, twice? Could you _survive_ it twice? I know she was important to you, but wouldn't it have been better to let her be killed, so you could move on once and for all?"

"I don't need you telling me what to do," he growled. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not some brokenhearted kid anymore. I can make my own choices. And what would _you_ know about love, anyway? I doubt if you even know what the word means."

"That isn't true," she said, almost tenderly. "There was someone, once."

"And?"

She shrugged. "He never returned my feelings. There isn't a thing you can do about that, is there?"

"I suppose not."

"Does she have the same thoughts, Jake? Does this Jessie woman feel the same way?" Mariko asked.

He stood, face unreadable. "It's James, Mariko. It will always _be_ James." He started to leave, but stopped. "And... this man, whoever he was. I apologize for his senselessness. Maybe he _did_ return your feelings, but, like yourself, was too secretive to say anything."

She watched him walk off and disappear into his tent. Only when the flap had closed did Mariko's guard fall, her back slump, and a small sigh sneak out of her lips. "If you only knew."

xxx

"Welcome back."

James peered through the darkness to see Jessie sitting up in her sleeping bag. "Can't you sleep?"

"Nah, I just woke up," she lied, yawning. In reality Jessie had purposely stayed awake to catch James when he came back in.

"Sorry to wake you."

"Oh, no, I woke up right before you came in." Another lie. Jessie wondered how many she'd give that evening. She shifted in her sleeping bag. "So, James..."

He cut her off. "Did you have something you wanted to ask me?"

She jumped a little. "Actually, yes. How—?"

"Did I know?" he finished. "From the look on your face this evening. You seemed to want to say something, but held back."

She smiled in the dim light. He was starting to finish her sentences again. Just like old times. "Nice observation. Guess you've been taking lessons from Tracey." She turned serious again. "James, when Mariko was talking about how you did a good job keeping me alive, well... you said something about how you wouldn't fail your clients. And…" Jessie trailed off, hesitant.

"Go on," he said, almost reluctantly.

She bit her lip. "Is that all this is to you? Just another job? Am… Am I – are we _all_ – just part of the occupation?"

She thought she heard him chuckle. "You're asking if I give a rattata's ass about the lot of you, is that it?"

"You could say that, yes."

"What do _you_ think, Jess?" he countered.

She fiddled with her sleeping bag. "I don't know. I really don't. I think I might have used to, but... you've changed a lot, you know. It's hard to tell if you care about _anything_ these days." There. She'd finally said it. Now all she had to worry about were the consequences.

There was a long, drawn-out pause that made her think he had decided to completely ignore the question. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he responded, "Do you remember, when we first met in Viridian Forest, that I couldn't kill you?"

"Of course."

"Would a person who didn't care do that?"

She'd never thought about it like that before. "No… I guess not."

"Then there's your answer."

There was the sound of rustling sheets, and someone settling into a sleeping bag. Jessie knew that was the end of the conversation. It wasn't much, his reply, but in many ways it was just what she needed.

* * *

**7/27/08**

**On Nomekop (Or, "Diff'rent Strokes to Rule the PokeWorld")**

With the introduction of Mariko, this seemed like a good time to talk about Nomekop nations. So, yes: all the nations mentioned in this fic are one-hundred percent my own inventions, except of course for Kanto, the Orange Islands, and Johto. This was actually one of my favorite things to giggle about when I went back and edited this, because it's _really_ obvious that Seventh-Grade Me couldn't quite decide which of Our World's nations to (loosely) base each particular Nomekop Nation off of. _(sweatdrop)_ I added a few details here and there in the edit to help clarify, but for the most part I left things as they were – partly to maintain the original feel of the piece, and partly because it's kind of funny. (_laughs_) But, for the record, here's how things more-or-less flow when it comes to the three major nations:

**Kanto **– I made Kanto very much like America, because I was working off of U.S. canon (with the character names and everything), so it made more sense to do it that way. In that sense, Johto and The Orange Islands are "western" nations as well. If I'd decided to use their original Japanese names, I probably would have made an effort to make it more Japanese… but I didn't. Which worked out, actually, because it allowed me to explain Brock's ethnic differences from the rest of the cast by having him come from the more "eastern"…**  
Tenuto **– Which is based off Japan. I even gave them their own religious system, called Kotami! You don't get a lot of it in this fic because there was no reason to talk about it, but I fleshed it out in _Pewter's Lament_, one of the few prequel stories I wrote for _2k5_. It's a polytheistic religion featuring five major deities and a bunch of minor ones. Kind of cool, actually… Anyway, Brock's Kotamist, which is why he'll say things like "For the gods' sakes" instead of "For God's sake," and so on. So, if anyone was wondering: that's the explanation!**  
Yumar **– Mariko's home nation. Ah… this is the one that makes me chuckle. I know that as time went on, I solidified it so that Yumar was sort of a middle eastern-style desert nation, but apparently I didn't know _what_ I was going for when I first wrote _2k5_, because Mariko's name is Japanese. _(sweatdrop)_ That was _probably_ unintentional, because I didn't know Japanese at the time, but now that I do... Well, there's no way I'm changing character names, so I left it as it was, but it kinda makes me wince and smile at the same time, these days. _(laughs) _I suppose that's all right, though.

By the way, the Elite are technically not a part of _any_ nation, but since their base lies between Kanto and Johto, they tend to get associated with (and approached by the leaders of) those countries more than the others. Only Lance and Ash are actually _from_ Kanto, though – Bruno is Tenutan, Agatha is Benedickian, and Prima (Lorelei in the games) is from the Orange Islands.

As promised, the next profile goes to the underrated and underdeveloped (but no less loveable!)…

**Tracey Sketchit**

**The Basics**  
-I know it's never directly stated in canon, but taking into account his male voice actors (Japan & U.S.), height, and overall maturity, I placed Tracey at fourteen during the series. This makes him twenty-one years old in _2k5_, and (I think) the only character who actually _mentions_ that fact during the story.  
-Tracey is a short man (only about 5'7") whose time in the military left him with a compact, muscular figure. He's developed a deep tan due to his time spent training out of doors, though this fades a bit once he gets back to the colder Kanto climate. He has a burn scar along the left side of his jawbone, and two thin laceration scars: a short one across the bridge of his nose and another sweeping just in front of his right earlobe. His left arm from about wrist to elbow is marred with another wax-like trail of a burn scar, and he has what is very obviously a healed bullet wound on his abdomen. At the beginning of the story his hair is pretty much buzzed, but once he gets back to Kanto he grows it out to a neat ear-length.  
-Tracey is (in my universe) an orphan, and was essentially bounced between foster homes for the better part of his childhood. His parents were from Kanto before they moved to the Orange Islands, so he is technically a Kanto citizen. He worked with Professor Oak up until the war began, though he officially lived in the spare bedroom at Gary's parents' house.  
-Although he joined the Air Force, due to the wide scope of the war there were several times when he found himself in grounded, army-style situations, so he's proficient with firearms as well.

**Wartime History**  
-He was only sixteen when Kanto entered the war, but he was so determined to go out and defend his homeland that he begged and pleaded with Gary to use his privileged family to pull some strings for him. After a lot of cajoling, Gary finally agreed to it, and the two entered the military together. Tracey struggled in basic training, but sheer willpower allowed him to make it through the rigorous schedule. He and Gary were issued into the same unit in the Air Force.  
-Tracey was a good but never great pilot, partially because he soon realized how much he hated taking lives. Even so, he was well-liked and respected by everyone in his unit for his unwavering loyalty and fierce protectiveness.  
-Tracey had a brief romantic fling during a stay in Surala, to the point where he actually considered deserting the military so he could be with her. In the end, though, he learned that she had no intention of staying with him. It was what you could call his "puppy-love heartbreak."  
-He literally took a bullet once for Gary, during a simple ground mission that suddenly found them under attack from enemy fire. He noticed the rustle of the trees a split second before the enemy attacked, and was able to shove both Gary and another pilot to the ground before they were mowed down by artillery. He was shot in the abdomen, but they managed to get him back to camp in time.  
-When Quiana's virus swept through their camp, Tracey came down with a rare but extremely violent strain. He vomited blood for a week and nearly died because he couldn't keep down his medicine, but Erika Gerry-rigged an IV-form of the medicine and was able to save him.  
-A couple months before the story begins, Tracey's plane was hit by a Rialan pilot and caught fire. He was able to eject himself and parachute to safety, but was left with third-degree burns on his lower left arm and along his chin. The burns on his arm damaged both muscle and nerve tissue, leaving the arm partially immobile (he can only bend it about halfway). This is where we find him at the beginning of the story, and the reason why he's allowed to go home on disability as well.

**Relationships**  
-Tracey was essentially adopted by the Oak family, and became very close with all of them – except, oddly enough, Gary, who was off training at this point. He had a crush on Gary's sister, May, for a while, but eventually came to think of her more like an older sibling.  
-Tracey and Gary barely knew each other when the war began. Their common goal of joining the Air Force served to bring them together, and the next four years made them as close as brothers. Their strengths and weaknesses complement each other nicely, and Tracey deeply admires Gary for his toughness in the face of adversity.  
-Tracey and Brock became casual friends (based around a mutual respect for one another's unique Poke-knowledge) while Brock and Misty were studying with Professor Oak, but the war hit before they had time to develop a close friendship. They lost track of each other once Brock went back to Pewter.  
-Tracey remained fairly close with both Ash and Misty, sending them letters during his time overseas, though he wasn't able to tell them much. He lost contact with them shortly after their respective home towns were destroyed.

**General Ramblings  
**Tracey and I have an… interesting history. I initially despised him (with the fires of a thousand suns, actually) because he took Brock's place, but once Brock came back I realized that he wasn't so bad. "And besides," I reasoned, "it wasn't _his_ fault the writers didn't give him a personality." If you look back at the timeline of my fanfics, you can actually see me becoming nicer and nicer to him, until by the end of my PokeFiction career he's portrayed very positively in pretty much everything I'm writing (even my comedies). _2k5_ was my first (and only) time taking a serious look at him, but it was definitely a worthwhile experience.

Developing his character was a lot of fun, because I had a _ton_ of flexibility. Like I said, the writers never really gave him a personality, so I pretty much had free rein on what I could do with him. _(sweatdrop)_ I took what I knew, though, which was pretty much this: He was an overall nice, levelheaded guy, but when he cared about something, he got _really_ passionate about it. I also figured that his time spent as a Pokemon Watcher would make him very attentive towards both animals and humans. Taking all that into account, I added five years of maturity and four years of military discipline, and came up with the Tracey of _2k5_: An observant, kind, calm little guy with a fierce protective streak and an almost unwavering loyalty to his friends. And then I... sort of fell in love with him. _(laughs) _He's a little overly-serious at times, but he's the kind of person you'd always want by your side when things are going bad, and the type you could trust with pretty much anything. Those kinds of people are rare gems, I think.

At any rate, I hope everyone else is enjoying him as much as I am (if that's possible, haha), and cheering him towards a happy ending! Maybe a happy ending with Celia? Well, with Brock's blessings, of course… _(laughs)_

I was going to do Gary next ("that's what _she_ said!"), but now I'm thinking I should wait another chapter for him. So next time… Maybe James? Maybe Mariko? Not sure just yet. We shall see…

'Till Next Time! – Dee ;)


	6. Silver

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Pokemon Universe, otherwise you'd be checking IMDB right now for information on the highly anticipated _Pocket Monsters 2005_ live action movie! Starring Johnny Depp… As! Ash! Ketchum! (Ha-HA… Worst idea ever). The story is mine, as are the couple of original characters.

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and violence.

* * *

**Chapter Six: Silver  
**The next morning everyone was up around eight, ready to start out on the trip again.

"Did you all sleep well?" Brock asked as he passed out breakfast.

"I did," Misty told him. She giggled. "Ash stayed up most of the night, though. I think he thought Mariko was going to slip a knife in his back."

"You can't trust some people," Ash justified, giving Mariko a dirty look.

"First of all, boy, I don't carry a knife. Second of all, if I was going to kill you, I'd make it face-to- face. That tends to be my style." She patted the two small laser guns at her sides for emphasis.

"I've never seen that type before," James commented, gesturing to the weapons. "Where did you come across those?"

"A new brand, fresh off the market," she explained. "They're smaller, and deadlier. You can carry two instead of one."

"So, how did you sleep, Brock?" Misty asked, trying to veer the subject away from weapons.

"It's been a few years since I've camped out, but not too bad, I guess."

"Good to hear."

Mariko finished her food quickly, setting the plate aside. "Now, since I will be traveling with you for a time, I would appreciate some details as to our destination and the like." She looked to Brock. "Who is the leader of this caravan?"

Brock jerked a thumb in Ash's direction. "We don't really _have_ a leader - more of a democracy, you know - but, since Ash is the only one who actually knows the location, I guess it's him."

Mariko stood up, looking Ash up and down. "This child is your captain?" Ash flushed. "I would have expected someone a bit more reasonable."

"And I would've expected _you_ to be a little bit nicer," Misty snapped. "After all, James could have just killed you, but he didn't, so show a little more gratitude."

Mariko stared her down. "Are you this boy's babysitter?"

She flinched under the penetrating gaze. "Of course not."

"Then I'd thank you not to speak for him." She whirled back to Ash. "Now, I'll need all that you can tell me. Where are we going?"

"Up in the mountains."

"Coordinates?"

"Well—"

"No beating about the bush," she said sharply. "Just give them, or don't."

"I don't know for certain."

"Approximate distance?"

"I don't know."

"Time it will take?"

By now Ash was rather red in the face. "I don't know."

She studied him through narrowed eyes. "You don't know much, do you?" she remarked dryly. Mariko whirled on Misty. "Now, then, you seem to want to speak for the boy. Explain to me what's going on."

Misty, glad to be asked something she knew, opened her mouth to go into the long story of her encounter with Ash and the others. "Well, you see, what happened was that I met Ash on Mount Silver, and he—"

Mariko held up a hand, stopping her. "I don't believe I asked for a life story." She shot a quick sideways glance at James. "If these are your commanders, I rather feel pity for the rest of you." James only shrugged. "Very well, then. Brock, isn't it? Do you know what I need?"

Brock held up his hands. "Hey, I'm just here to make sure they don't starve and to find some medicine for my family."

Her eyes turned up into a little smile. "At least you're honest. You're doing a fine job, too." As Mariko whirled on Tracey and Gary, Brock looked to Misty and Ash, wiping his forehead and sighing in mock relief. Misty stifled a nervous giggle but Ash just turned away, mouth pursed in an irritated scowl. Mariko scrutinized her two final sources, frowning. "I might as well give it a try." Her eyes rested on Tracey. "Could you _briefly_ explain where we are going?"

Mariko reminded Tracey and Gary so much of their old drill sergeant that both unconsciously came to attention.

"To the Elite's hideout, in the Crimson Mountains. Ash is going to try to convince them to help stop the war," Tracey reported.

Mariko nodded. "Do you know coordinates and the like?"

"Negative, ma'am." He blushed as soon as it came out, but couldn't help himself.

Now on to Gary. "Would you happen to know?"

Gary rapped out his personal calculations with military precision. "A one day walk into a town at the foot of Mount Silver, expected to be reached early this evening. A two-day climb up Silver, than approximately seventy-five miles into the heart of the Crimson Range, traveling due north. Estimated to take six to seven days with no weather problems, but at this time of the year it's impossible to know for sure."

Her eyes curled up again. "Very nice. Names?"

"Tracey Sketchit."

"Gary Oak."

"In the army, I take it," she said.

"Air Force," Tracey corrected.

"Ah. Forgive the mistake." She walked past, but stopped suddenly. Gary thought he saw a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth, but it could have been his imagination. "At ease, boys."

They couldn't help but laugh.

Mariko's smooth, silent strides reminded the others of James' as she grabbed her small pack and walked up to Ash. "If you have any sense, you should consider making those two your commanders. You would have a much better chance of surviving this suicide quest."

Ash's fists bunched up. He'd already been humiliated in front of the entire camp; Mariko had just added insult to injury. As Gary walked by, along with the others, Ash had a rising urge to trip him, but fought back the nasty whim. It wasn't worth the effort anyway, he told himself with a scowl, striding ahead and shouting for the others not to fall behind.

xxx

Tracey put his hands behind his head, closing his eyes against the bit of sunlight that seeped through the foliage. "It's nice being able to relax, now that we don't have anyone stalking us."

"Think again," James said quietly.

Tracey looked back at the bounty hunter, opening one eye to give him a questioning look. "What does that mean?"

"Our old employer isn't going to give up that easily, you know," Mariko explained. "And with the way news travels in the assassin community, she may be hiring someone else at this very moment."

"No doubt Karl and his gang," James assumed.

"And I know he'll be thrilled to have a reason to kill the both of us," Mariko said, a sort of wild amusement in her voice. The others looked to her questioningly, so she added, "He has always wanted my life, and therefore my position as the leader of the community. However, there is a strict taboo on killing another hunter, and he would pay for such a crime with his life… unless, of course, I happened to stand between him and his mission."

"Ugh!" Jessie groaned, thoroughly sick of her own ignorance. "Look, Mariko," she began, sounding as exasperated as she felt, "I honestly don't have a _clue_ who's after me, or even _why_. James won't tell me because of some code, but I was hoping maybe it was a rule you _wouldn't_ mind breaking."

Mariko nodded. "Normally I would have to agree with James, but since I find the woman so detestable - and, in a roundabout way, since James is working for you then so am I - I'll give you what you ask." She paused to remember the full name. "Now, I believe it was... yes. Jessebelle Cliffton."

Ash, Misty, Brock, James and Jessie came to a dead halt. Realizing their friends had stopped, Tracey and Gary pulled up, curious to see what was going on.

"Jessebelle?" Misty gaped. "You can't seriously mean _the_ Jessebelle?"

Jessie cursed under her breath. "It figures. Just my luck."

Mariko didn't look too surprised, just vaguely interested. "You all know her, then."

"Can't say we do," Tracey spoke up.

"Anyone wanna fill us in?" Gary asked.

The remaining four shot expectant looks at James. He sighed, pressing thumb and index finger to the bridge of his nose. "Basically… she's my fiancée."

"And she's _nuts_," the others inserted helpfully.

"That, too," he agreed. "It's a long story that I'd _really_ prefer not to dive in to."

"Fair enough," Gary agreed. "But why does she wanna kill Jessie?"

"She doesn't want to kill Jessie, she wants to kill Anita Lockheart, the thief who stole from her stolen property," Jessie said evenly. She had started walking again, forcing the others to move with her in order to hear the rest. "I just can't believe it. After all these years, too, you'd think she would've given up on it."

"The woman tends to be persistent; you almost have to admire it," James admitted. "She's no stranger to a grudge, especially if it involves money." He feigned disinterest. "So, Jess, what exactly did you do to get a woman like her after your blood?"

"I guess I couldn't keep lying to you. You were bound to find out eventually. This is as good a time as any." Jessie took a breath. "Hey James, you know how I said I was getting paid monthly 'cause of my little injury?" He nodded. "Well, I'm sure you already knew, but I was lying about that. When I came to, Jessica Smitt was already legally dead. The family that had saved my life didn't have a clue who I was – good thing, too, or I might be in prison right now. Remember the deal the police made with all us Rockets right after they busted HQ? We fight until the war ends, and we don't serve any time?" James nodded again. "Well, if I told the family the truth they'd have no choice but to turn me over. So, naturally, I took the alias Anita Lockheart. The bad part was: I didn't have any money, any friends, or any possessions. It really wasn't a pretty situation." She stopped for a moment, plucking a few clinging leaves off a tree and staring at them a little guiltily. "Then, I remembered an old friend with a fortune. The papers mentioned something about your parents being dead - for real, this time - and everyone assumed you were gone, too, so… I figured you'd have understood, and decided to drop by and borrow some cash.

"Unfortunately, that possessive fiancée of yours decided to move onto your estate after your folks died. While I was snatching some money out of the safe - by the way, you _really_ oughta get a better one, I broke in easily - she happened to come down the hall and see me." Jessie rubbed at her temples. "And the rest, as they say, is history."

The others let this information sink in, wondering what effect it would have on the rest of the trip. After a moment, Brock asked thoughtfully, "Why do you think it took this long for her to send out a bounty hunter?"

"It's hard to identify someone who doesn't exist," Jessie said smugly. "And once you do figure out who they are, tracking them down would be next to impossible. _Especially_ during a war, when the last thing on anyone's mind is a simple theft." She shrugged. "Guess it took her this long to finally decide a bounty hunter was the way to go."

"She didn't know it was James she was hiring?" Misty asked. "I mean, you'd think—"

"People believe what they want to believe," James interrupted. "She hadn't seen me in seven years, _and_ she thought I was dead. Even if she did ever consider the possibility that I was her fiancée, I suspect she would have brushed it aside as her imagination."

Mariko's voice had a definite edge of amusement to it. "This tale just keeps getting more and more interesting. Jessie steals money from her childhood friend, whose fiancée witnesses the theft and unknowingly hires the man the money was stolen from to kill _his_ childhood friend."

"Is anyone else's head just spinning from that?" Gary asked sarcastically.

"Is there anything we can do about her?" Tracey wondered.

James shook his head. "Nothing, not really. It doesn't matter how many assassins we kill she'll only hire more. Heaven knows the woman has enough money." He didn't seem to like referring to her by her name.

"I suppose the only real solution would be to get her bankrupt, or to get someone to kill _her_," Jessie mused.

Mariko's eyes flashed dangerously. "If you'd like to give me the job, I'd gladly accept it."

Jessie laughed. "Actually, I was thinking about just doing it myself."

xxx

Brock's watch read a little after five when they reached the large village at the foot of Mount Silver.

"Say 'hello' to the last bit of civilization before our little suicide mission begins," Gary said dryly. "What's this place called, anyway?"

"Silver," Ash grumbled shortly. He hadn't been in a good mood all day, and no one could figure out why.

"It really isn't as small as I pictured it," Brock remarked. "I thought it'd only be a couple houses, but it's really more like a small town than a village."

"There's a hotel down a ways," Ash said. "Called the Raikou Inn. We'll check out some rooms first."

The others obeyed, walking alongside the League Champ into a one-story hotel. The man behind the desk, whose nametag read simply _Kirk_, seemed surprised to see such a large crowd walking into the building. "Um, hello, and welcome." He quickly counted the number of guests and pushed his glasses up onto his nose. "I'm afraid you'll have to partner up two to a room, we don't have enough to accommodate you all. All the rooms have one bed, except for Room 3, which has a couple."

"Dibs," Gary called immediately. The others stared at him and he held up his free hand in defense. "What? You expect me and Trace to cuddle up in a single? We're not _that_ good of friends."

"Er… And we can roll in some cots if you need them in the other rooms," Kirk assured the rest of the group. He snatched up a small pile of keys, setting them down on the marble front desk. "That'll be fifty dollars per room, please."

As Tracey – who had been appointed the group's unofficial treasurer – handled the money, Jessie reached out for the nearest key, not even paying attention to the numbers stamped on each of them. Gary's hand flew out of nowhere, snatching it up and wagging it reprovingly at her. "Room 3, thank-you-very-much. Don't try breaking the rules of 'dibs,' young lady." He winked at her. "And besides, what good would two beds be in _your_ room?"

Jessie shot Misty an exasperated look, and the younger woman had to fight to stifle a giggle. Misty whispered the true details of the ex-Rockets' relationship into Gary's ear as Jessie snatched up another key, turning and waving it at James. "Roommates as usual? Since you've got a fried shoulder, I'll even sleep on the cot," she offered. He nodded his approval at the same time that Gary's eyes widened and he flashed them both an apologetic grin. Jessie waved it away; James didn't even seem to notice.

"I guess that leaves you and me together," Brock said to Mariko before Misty or Ash even had a chance to speak. This time it was Misty's turn to shoot Jessie a look, though hers was more baffled than annoyed. Jessie couldn't give her anything but a helpless shrug as she followed James back to their room.

"I don't care what you do for the rest of the time. Just meet me back in the lounge tomorrow morning at nine," Ash told them, walking out of the hotel with the room key still in his hand.

Misty realized what he'd done too late. "Oh, wonderful. Now I'm locked out and I haven't even put my stuff up yet!"

"You can set it in my room for now, Mist," Brock offered. "Until Ash gets back."

Misty smiled. "Thanks Brock." She shot daggers at the hotel entrance. "I should have roomed with you instead."

"Yes, but then Ash would have had to deal with Yumaran trash again," Mariko reminded her, not sounding in the least bit distressed by the idea. She handed Brock her small pack. "I have some business to take care of. Would you mind dropping my things off in our room?"

"What sort of business?" Misty wondered as Brock took the bag.

Mariko waved a hand dismissively. "A certain assassin broke one of the more important laws, and it's my duty to... correct him." She sighed. "There really is no rest for the weary. I'll see you this evening." And she, too, was gone.

Misty headed down the hall to the rooms, shaking her head as she went. "Mariko is so strange. I never know what she'll say next."

Brock laughed. "I'm not sure I'd want to."

xxx

"Okay," Jessie said, arms crossed over her chest and eyes fixed on the rickety, rusting rollaway cot sitting in the corner of their room. "I am _not_ sleeping on that."

"I don't blame you," James admitted.

"I mean, it looks like it was made for a _Pokemon, _for God's sake. I swear my legs from the knee down will dangle off the end of that thing."

"Probably."

"And would it even hold my _weight_?"

"I doubt it."

"I'll die," she decided. "The frame will give out under me, the whole thing will buckle in on itself, I will be squashed between the front half and the back half, and I will suffocate into my blankets."

"It's a definite possibility."

"You will find me blue and bloated in the morning, and they'll have to put on my tombstone, 'Here Lies Jessie: Cotted to Death.'"

James fought to keep a straight face. "Well, we certainly can't have that."

"No, we certainly can not."

"So what do you propose we do about this?"

"We commandeer Room 3," she said, nodding seriously. "My knife, your gun, a hot-air balloon, and a strategically placed pitfall."

"Will we need disguises?"

"Oh, we _always_ need disguises," Jessie assured him. Her eyes narrowed and she chewed at her lip, as if deep in thought. "And we'll need to be _prepared_ for something. I just… damn, I can't remember what that something is, only I think I'm supposed to… _double_ it, for some reason…"

They glanced at one another, and the eye contact was just too much. Jessie burst out laughing, and even James broke into a quiet string of chuckles, sitting down on the edge of the bed and shaking his head at the ridiculous conversation. Jessie plunked down beside him, poking him teasingly in the side of the head. "Share a bed with your old partner for a night?"

"As long as you don't still kick in your sleep," he agreed, glancing up and meeting her gaze with a wide, honest smile – not the small, uncertain ones he'd been giving her for the past couple of months, as if he were just getting used to the action again, but a genuine _smile_, so similar to the ones from before their separation. Jessie felt like singing.

Instead, her stomach roared.

James chuckled again. "Hungry?"

"Apparently," she said, laughing again. "What sounds good to you?"

"Benovitian, if they have any."

"You read my mind," Jessie told him with a grin, hopping to her feet and heading for the door. "I spotted a little place on the way in and my stomach's been complaining ever since. Shall we?"

"Sounds good," he agreed. "Lead the way."

Jessie smirked up at him. "Don't I always?"

xxx

The meal was good, but uneventful, and the former Rockets decided that a stroll through the quiet streets of Silver sounded like an excellent idea. As they were circling a block of stores, walking along idly, James stopped, rigid.

"What's up?" Jessie asked, then noticed how serious he looked. In a lower voice, she whispered, "Is someone following us again?"

He nodded. "They're keeping to the back alleys. Not a common thief - too quiet for that. Too quiet for even a bounty hunter, really."

"Well, then what could it possibly be?" she asked. After a moment, she chuckled. "Maybe it's a ghost."

James allowed a tiny smile to touch his lips. "I guess I'm just being paranoid. Must be my imagina—"

A cream-colored blur streaked through the air and hit both Jessie and James full force, knocking them backwards in the process. James rolled out from underneath the newcomer almost as soon as he was hit, whipping out his gun and holding it at the animal that sat on Jessie's chest. He paused for a slight second - it was a Persian, reminding him of his old friend, Meowth. James shook his head to clear the memories, keeping his weapon pointed at the animal. "I know you can understand me, so listen closely. If you get off of her I'll let you go back to wherever you came from. Lay a single claw on her..." He tightened his finger on the trigger, making his point.

Obediently the lanky Persian dismounted, backing up and watching the weapon with intelligent eyes. He frowned - a very un-catlike gesture. "Jim, I'm hurt. Not even rememberin' an old friend. Is dis da kind of treatment I get for tryin' ta be nice?"

James blinked several times, lowering the weapon slowly. There was no way. He was dead. _Had_ to be. And yet...

"Meowth?" Jessie whispered, sitting up.

"Who else would it be? Da boss in a cat costume?" he asked sarcastically, smiling and grabbing Jessie in a Persian hug.

"Impossible," James said softly.

Jessie laughed, throwing her arms around the big cat's neck. "I thought you were dead! The news reports said—"

"Well, if dere's one ting you two oughta know is dat da news reports tend to tell a lotta lies," he reminded them. "Weren't _you_ s'posed ta be dead five years ago, too?"

"Guess you aren't the only one with nine lives," Jessie said.

James' face at last broke into a grin. "If this turns out to be a dream, it's one of the best I've had in years."

"No dream, Jimmy-boy!" the cat assured him. He smirked. "Unless ya'd like me ta scatch ya - ta see if I'm real, and for old time's sake."

xxx

Brock helped Misty up from the dinner table, glad to have a break from cooking for once. She stretched, smiling contentedly. "That was delicious."

"You said it, Mist," Tracey agreed, offering Gary a hand up, which his friend naturally ignored. "I feel like I might burst at the seams."

Brock resisted the urge to say he'd tasted better - his own, and Celia's. Thinking about his sister sent a pang of homesickness through him, but he quickly pushed it down. For today, at least, he'd try to have a good time. "Is there anything else you guys want to do before we head back?" He glanced at his watch as he held open the door for everyone to file outside. "It's only a little after seven – we've got most of the evening left."

"I dunno about you, but there's a barstool and a beer bottle calling my name," Gary said. "I spotted a pub down the way that looked like a good place to meet the locals and slug back a few. Sound like fun?"

"I'm game," Tracey agreed.

"Sorry, guys," Misty said with a weak smile. "I'm too young, remember?"

"Damn, that's right," Gary said, snapping his fingers in regret. "So, what else're we gonna do tonight? Maybe there's a movie theatre in town or something…?"

"Don't worry about it," Brock told him. "I'm not in the mood to drink anyway, so you guys go on ahead." He grinned down at Misty. "I'll keep the baby company." She glowered and socked him lightly in the shoulder.

Gary's lips hovered somewhere between a grateful smile and an uncertain frown. "You sure?" They both nodded, waving the veterans away. He hesitated, then pointed at Misty. "Your birthday's in… May, right?"

"April, but you were close – it's on the thirtieth."

"We'll take a rain-check, then," he offered. "The four of us, your choice of the city and the bar. I'll buy you your first legal drink. Fair?"

"Sounds like a plan," Misty agreed. "Now stop feeling guilty and go get plastered. Brock and I can have plenty of fun without you around."

"Well, I don't know about _that_," both Tracey and Gary said teasingly, before waving farewell to the pair and heading off for the evening.

Brock waited until the two had disappeared down a side street before turning back to Misty. "So what do you want to do?"

"I was actually thinking that we could window-shop, if you want." Misty suggested. "Maybe we could find some of that antidote for the virus."

Brock doubted a small town like this would have a heavily needed medication like that, but liked the idea of exploring. "Sounds great."

As they strolled down the street, Misty paused thoughtfully. "I wonder where Ash is? We haven't seen him since we left the hotel."

Brock frowned behind her back. How was it that, ever since he'd known her, their conversations always seemed to center around Ash? He shook his head. _'Shouldn't ask questions I know the answers to,' _he reminded himself with an inner sigh. Brock glanced away and shrugged. "I'm sure he's around. You don't need to worry about him so much, Mist. He can take care of himself."

She sighed. "Yeah, you're right." She felt around in her jeans pocket. "Oh, good, I have some money. I'm a major spender, you know – can't go anywhere without buying something."

Brock laughed, letting his previous concerns slip away. He'd promised himself he'd have a _good_ time tonight, after all – and with Misty around, that was always surprisingly easy. "Yeah, I can be like that too."

The conversation carried for a while, until they reached a small drug store. "Wanna check in here?" Misty offered. "You never know what sort of things these little stores carry."

'_By that, she means there's a tiny chance I could find the medicine,'_ Brock thought to himself. A slim to none chance, of course, but he figured he'd humor her. "Fine by me."

The light tinkle of bells above the door welcomed them to the cozy drugstore. Brock noticed a new copy of his favorite magazine, _Kantan Geographic, _lying invitingly on a rack. He hadn't bought one in months, so he went over to flip through and see what he'd missed. Misty walked the other direction in search of medicine. She didn't even know if they sold that sort of thing over-the-counter, but decided it was worth a shot.

"Excuse me, do you need help finding anything?"

Misty glanced up. An attractive woman a couple years older than Brock was standing next to her, decked out in a uniform and wearing a cheerful smile. Misty bit her lip to hide a smile; this was exactly the type of girl her companion would have flown to when they were kids. "Yeah, actually. Do you have any...?" She groaned, realizing she didn't know the name for it. "Any of the antidote for Quiana's virus?"

The woman's mouth formed a small _O_ of surprise. "Now _there's_ a request I've never gotten before!"

"That's all right. I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask, but—"

She laughed. "I never said we didn't have it, did I?" She took a couple steps to the right, bent over and picked up a small bottle in gold wrapping. "When the virus hit Kanto we piled our shelves like everyone else did, but no one around this place ever caught it, so it's just been sitting here. It's not out-of-date, though. I'd never sell anything dangerous to customers." Her smile turned to a look of concern. "Did someone in your family come down with it?"

Misty shook her head. "Not me. A friend of mine's household," she pointed to Brock, who had his nose buried in the magazine, "has been hit really hard. He lives in Pewter, and they ran out early. He'll be thrilled to see this." She looked at the bottle, which read _Xycosophlanxis_; like most medicines, impossible to pronounce.

"It's called Zy-Co-Sof-Lanx-Zis," she explained, laughing a little. "Took me weeks to get it right."

Misty called her friend over, who reluctantly set down what he was reading and came to see what was up. Misty waved the bottle in front of his nose, beaming. "Your prayers have been answered!"

Brock stared at the bottle for a long, silent moment, blinking again and again. He pressed his eyes shut, shook his head, opened them again. "I'm…" he finally began, and Misty was surprised at how small his voice sounded, like he was afraid to put his thoughts into words. "I'm reading…" he swallowed hard, "I'm reading it wrong, aren't I?" Puzzled, she shook her head. Brock held out his hands in a silent request, and Misty set the medicine gently into them, watching as his eyes trailed over the label, his hands turning the bottle over and over, handling it as delicately as if it were made of porcelain. His jaw tightened and his throat constricted, and it looked like he had to fight to get his next words out. "It's… really _it_, then… is it?"

"Yeah," Misty said quietly. "It really is."

He pressed one hand to his mouth even as the other gripped the bottle even tighter. "Oh gods…" He trailed off, taking two shaky steps away so that his back was against one of the shelves. His arm slid to the top of the shelf, pressing into it to support his weight as his knees sagged beneath him. Misty watched as the hand against his mouth trailed upwards to cover his eyes. She saw his shoulders start to shake, and for one horrible moment she thought that she'd made some kind of mistake. But as she took a step closer he glanced up, cheeks streaked with tears, and she heard him murmur, "Thank you."

Misty wasn't sure when her own eyes filled with tears, or exactly how she wound up with her arms wrapped around his neck, or even if it was really her that whispered tremblingly back, "I'm so happy for you." But somehow they were both crying, Brock with his arms wrapped around her waist, saying "thank you" again and again and leaning in against her until she felt like she was the only thing keeping him from crumpling to his knees, from collapsing out of sheer relief. "It's okay," she found herself promising him, because he seemed so fragile that she thought that she had to say _something_. "It's gonna all be okay."

It was such a ridiculous thing to do, she thought, promising him things would be "okay" when a miracle had just landed in his lap. A nervous laugh slipped out of her throat, and she heard a giddy reply sneak its way from Brock. The weak giggles grew, becoming more certain of themselves as she felt Brock strengthen, his arms tightening into a real hug. "Oooh, it's over," he said through a string of relieved chuckles. "It's finally _over_! And Gwen won't be – and _none_ of them will be – and I never would've thought – ohhh, thank you thank you _thank you_!"

Misty squeaked as Brock picked her up like she weighed nothing at all, twirling her around in a full circle, and then she forgot to be surprised and was just ecstatic again, laughing with him, unable to do anything but smile up at him as he set her down again, pulling back so that they could look at each other, faces streaked with tears and flush with joy.

"You're the best, Mist," Brock said, and she was surprised by the husky timbre of his voice. "An absolute angel."

He was looking at her with that openness again, she realized, the same way that he'd looked at her when she'd helped cheer him up after Kris' death. His smile so wide, almost clumsy, really, but filled with adoration. She couldn't remember _ever_ being looked at like that before. It flattered her, but more than that, it made her nervous. Like someone was trying to give her an award for something she didn't deserve. "Oh, well…" she fumbled, glancing away and finding an outlet in the nearby saleswoman. "Hey, don't start showering me with compliments _too_ quick. I'd never have found it without her help."

Brock's hands dropped from her shoulders and she found that she could breathe again. He turned to face the clerk, offering her a less exuberant but no less genuine smile. "Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me."

"It was my pleasure," she told him. "If you need to get it to Pewter in a hurry, I have a messenger service that could have it there by tomorrow morning." She whistled, and a sturdy-looking Pidgeot strutted in through a back door. He carried a mail sack draped across one shoulder. "Express here is used to this sort of thing. He's very reliable, and the fastest thing we've got in Silver." She held out her hand for the medicine, and Brock handed it reluctantly back to her. She turned it over to Express, who tucked it away in the bag and, after Brock gave him the address, darted out of the room. The helpful woman turned back to the pair, rubbing the back of her head. "I really hate to charge you for this, since I know it must have been a hassle to come all the way out here…"

Brock handed over his credit card. "Trust me: you deserve every penny of it."

She bit her lip. "Still..." She noticed the copy of _Kantan Geographic_ lying half-open on the rack. "Oh, I know! You can take that – free of charge."

He started to protest, but Misty interrupted him. "Brock, she's trying to be nice. This is the part where you say 'thank you very much,' pick up the magazine we all know you badly want, and promise to take her out to dinner sometime."

Brock flushed. "Thanks, um—"

"The name's Renae, and thanks but no thanks: I think my boyfriend might be just a _little_ peeved if I did that." She laughed, handing him back his credit card. "Did you two need anything else?"

"Actually, do you have a phone?" Brock asked. "I thought I'd try to get a hold of my family and tell them the good news."

Renae said they did, pointing the pair to a little office tucked away at the back of the store. Misty followed along behind Brock. "I thought the phone lines out of Pewter were all down."

"They are," he agreed, "but the Center has a satellite signal, and Joy knows my family. She'll send someone out for Celia. This is something she _knows_ they need to hear." He turned to her as he opened the door to the office. "Thanks again, Mist. I mean it. If there's anything I can do—"

She laughed, pushing him inside. "You can stop babbling at _me_ and tell your family the good news, for one. I'll think up something big and expensive for you to get me later, if that'll make you feel better."

He flashed another smile – a _normal_ one this time, she thought with mixed feelings – before ducking into the room and over to the phone. She leaned against the doorframe, giving him a small bit of privacy as he explained the good news to Joy, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for a family member to appear on the video screen. Not five minutes later a breathless Celia came into view, and Misty had to blink back a fresh wave of tears as the siblings half-chattered, half-sobbed to each other for another few minutes.

Watching the two made Misty more elated than she'd been in months, and she wondered when her own happiness had become so inexplicably intertwined with theirs. With his. Since she'd come to Pewter? Since that terrible scare two years ago, when she'd thought Brock was going to die from the virus? Since they'd started exchanging letters during the war? Or maybe it had always been there, since they'd been kids traveling together, and she'd just never noticed it before. The exact moment didn't much matter. What _did_ matter, though, was that she now understood just how totally his life was tied in with her own. Anything good for him became something good for her. Anything bad for him… she'd tear to pieces before it got too close. It was just that simple.

'_Well, he _is_ my best friend,'_ she reminded herself, a bit startled at her own protective thoughts. _'So it's only natural that I'd want him to be happy.'_

Misty shook herself back to reality just as Brock hung up the phone. He wiped a few threatening tears from the corners of his eyes, smiling a little. "Sorry. I feel like a leaky faucet."

"You'd better be sorry," she agreed with mock severity, leading him back to the exit. "Getting all weepy just because Renae turned you down." Brock laughed, and Misty laughed with him, swinging out her arm to give him a brief one-armed hug. "Seriously, don't worry about it. I'd have flooded the streets by now if I were in your shoes."

"You'd have flooded the streets just 'cause Renae turned you down?" he teased, earning a light shove from his friend. "Hey," he said suddenly, holding open the door for Misty, "I want to celebrate."

"Gonna go track down Gary and Tracey?"

"That'd sort of defeat the purpose of celebrating with _you_." She blinked at that, but had to smile as well. "No, I was thinking we could pick up some champagne. Head back to the hotel, see who else is there, throw a little party in my room. What do you think?"

"Only on the condition that you let me pay for the drinks," she said, pulling a few bills out of her pocket and shoving them forcibly at Brock. He hesitated for only a moment before taking them, apparently too excited to even argue. Misty grinned at him as he took off down the street, bouncier than she'd seen him in… well, since before the war, probably. It made the entire world seem a little bit sunnier, she thought, and couldn't help bouncing along beside him. "I can't wait to tell everyone the good news."

Brock nodded. "This might even manage to lift Ash out of his bad mood."

Misty rolled her eyes. "Sometimes I don't think a _crane_ could lift Ash out of a bad mood."

He laughed again. "Good thing _this_ is about ten times stronger than a crane then, huh?"

* * *

**8/4/08**

**On Relationships (Or, "The Subtle But Important Difference Between a Lover and a Friend is Often Related to Whether or Not You Feel the Need to Wear Pants When Around Them")**

I got a review asking about this after the last chapter, so this seemed like a good place to spend a little time discussing relationships. I'll probably do another wrap-up one at the end of the fic (we're halfway finished, by the way), but for now, let's see if I can't chat about this _without_ giving away any major plot points.

So first of all: yes, there will be some romantic discussion in _2k5_ (and already has been, a bit), but I don't really consider this fic a "romance" because so much else is happening as well. For me, _2k5 _is more a story about the variety of relationships that tie people together, from families to friends to rivals to lovers. It's about individuals forming bonds, and then acting on those bonds in their own ways – whether that's with Tracey's protectiveness, Jessie's teasing, or even Ash's clumsy struggle between cruelty and compassion. So some of those friendships strengthen, and some of them weaken… and some of them become something more than friendship.

I won't talk too much about couplings since none of them have officially happened yet, except to say that, when I began _2k5_, I really only had a general idea about how one particular romantic relationship was going to go. Any others I pretty much let the characters work out for themselves. Strange thing to say, I know, but sometimes my characters wrestle the story out of my hands, and I can't do anything but type it like they want it (_sweatdrop_). As I was doing the edit, I went back through and added a few details here and there to add some foreshadowing to the mix, but overall I tried to keep the hints fairly subtle. It's really not the major focus of _2k5_. Still, you should be able to pick up how everyone feels about everyone else. In some cases, though, there _are_ no definite answers at this point. Give everyone time – they'll sort it out one way or another, I'm sure (And don't get mad at me if you're favorite couple doesn't make it past "just friends" in this fic – it's their own darn fault, haha).

As far as the friendships between everyone go, I think it's fairly obvious at this point who's warmest to one another (Gary and Tracey, Ash and Misty and Brock, Jessie and James), and who's coldest (Ash and Gary), but I do have to say that some of my favorite scenes are the ones between characters who you _don't_ necessarily see together all the time – or even characters who didn't even get along during the anime series. For the record, a lot of those scenes got added in the edit (best example at this point is the Misty/Jessie chat from the last chapter; best example overall is in the next chapter, and my very favorite of the edited additions), but some of them were there to begin with, and I'm overall very pleased with the way I wove together the characters. They're fun, and they're fun _with_ each other. Hopefully you readers feel the same way. :-)

And, since I decided not to do a profile this chapter (I just don't want to risk spoiling anything), I'm going to discuss the major relationships a little bit in here. Enjoy!

**Ash, and Misty, and Brock **– All three care a lot about each other, though none of them is afraid of giving the other a piece of their mind if they think the other deserves it. In the end, though, it's like Brock said in _The Decision_: they'll always forgive each other, one way or another. That ability to be honest with each other, and to get violently mad at each other, and then to take a breath and say "okay, sorry" and wipe the slate clean again – that really reveals the strength of their relationship, I think. (And no, I'm not saying a _word_ about what may-or-may-not-be a love triangle popping up between these three. You'll just have to keep reading to find out!)

**Gary and Tracey **– A relationship built on a combination of trust, mutual respect (and even admiration), and a loyalty forged in fire, these two are brothers in all but actual DNA. Though their opposing personalities do occasionally clash and cause minor annoyances between them, those differences actually form the core of their friendship. They complement each other nicely, making up for the other's flaws with their own strong points. They have a fairly simple relationship (I think Gary's a little too straightforward to have a "complex relationship" with anyone, to be honest), but that doesn't make it any weaker than the others: each would kill to protect the other, and indeed did just that several times during their years in the military.

**Jessie and James **– I don't think there's any doubt that they love each other, though whether that love extends into a romantic relationship is anyone's guess at this point. So, dancing nimbly around _that_ particular issue, I will say this: these two have perhaps the deepest relationship out of any of the characters in _2k5_. They struggled through countless difficulties and supported one another the entire way – sometimes with bitter words, but always with absolute loyalty. That is, until the war tore them suddenly and violently apart, and they were forced to make their way alone. In spite of their time spent apart (and in spite of James' curious aloofness), I think that, deep down, their bond is just as strong as it's ever been, if not stronger. After all, they now fully understand exactly what they stand to lose.

I can feel myself about to start rambling ("About to _start_?" scoffs everyone), so this is where I'll make my exit. I'll get back to the profiles in the next chapter, so keep your eyes peeled for a whole mess of exciting information about our other war veteran, the irrepressible Gary Oak! (Somewhere, Gary is striking a ridiculous heroic pose. You can bet on it)

'Till Next Time! – Dee


	7. Stumbling

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Pokemon Universe, otherwise I'd be faaaaar too busy and important to be writing such trivial nonsense as fanfiction! (_Harumph_!) The story is mine, as are the couple of original characters.

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and violence.

* * *

**Chapter Six: Stumbling  
**Once they got back to the hotel, Jessie insisted that Meowth - he preferred being called that rather than Persian - tell them exactly why he wasn't lying in a coffin.

"Well see, what happened was dis: Giovanni, who was considered my 'master,' died in a fight a little after youse guys left. Since I didn't have no one to call my human, dey went ahead and told me I could do whatever I wanted. Pokemon can't be charged fer crimes, it toins out. So I roamed around Viridian Forest for a while, where I joined up wit' dis pack of cats and eventually evolved." He licked a front paw; Jessie and James had noticed that since his evolution he behaved a lot more like a cat than he used to. "So anyway, I eventually got bored wit' dat an' found my way inta this cozy little village. Da folks here tought it was really sometin' ta meet a talkin' Pokémon, an' dey sorta adopted me. So basically I just roam between houses, sleep wherever I want an' get free meals at all hours of da day. Not a bad life, really." He curled up between the two, yawning happily. "So, what about youse two? What're _your_ stories?"

Jessie was about to answer, when a knock sounded on their door. She answered to find Misty and Brock standing in the doorway, Brock with a paper sack in one hand. Both looked pleased, and their faces lit up even more when they saw the two former Rockets.

"Oh, good!" Misty cried. "We were starting to think we were the only people left in the hotel! You guys want to have a little party with us? We're celebrating."

A puzzled smile sneaked onto Jessie's face as she stepped back to let the two enter. "Um, sure, but what are we celebrating?"

Misty looked to Brock, so he explained about the medicine in an excited rush. Jessie grabbed him in a hug before he was halfway finished, and James offered a genuinely happy smile and a "congratulations" from across the room. Meowth stared at the two from his perch on the end of the bed, blinking slowly, his eyes flickering with a mixture of recognition and absolute shock. As the pair entered the room, their eyes fell on the cat as well. Misty chuckled. "Did you guys make a new friend?"

"_Old_ friend is more like it," Jessie assured her, bidding both she and Brock to take seats at the little table. She slipped over to the nearby sink, grabbing glasses from the counter and saying as she went, "Meowth, I'm sure you remember—"

"How could I _not_?" he squeaked, at the same time Misty and Brock exclaimed, "_Meowth_?"

"B-but we thought you were—" Misty began.

"Oh no," he interrupted. "_Youse_ don't get ta be da surprised ones." He glared at his old partners. "Dere's twoips in da room, and youse is both smilin'. Explain, before my poor brain breaks."

James stifled a chuckle as Jessie gave him the short version of the story. Meowth still looked like he couldn't quite believe it, but his apprehension was soon overrode by Misty and Brock's friendliness. Jessie passed champagne to everyone, including the cat, and before long the group had slipped into pleasant chatter, enjoying one another's company and the peace of the evening. Before long the sun had dipped beneath the horizon and stars one by one speckled the sky outside the window. Finally, as the moon rose higher in the sky and Misty's head began to droop forward, Brock nudged her gently and said, "Maybe you should head back to your room."

"Can't, remember?" she said, covering a yawn. "_Some_ inconsiderate twithas the key."

"He might be back in the room by now," Brock said. "It _is_ getting kinda late."

She frowned reluctantly. "Well, maybe, but…"

James stood. "I'll come with you. If he isn't there, I can help you look for him." Everyone in the room turned to stare at him, blinking at the sudden offer. The looks were not lost on the assassin, who explained to Misty, "Well, if he's not in his room, then he's probably at a bar. And, judging from the way he was acting earlier, he may have gotten into some trouble. And if that _is _the case, then he may need someone to get him _out _of that trouble. So it makes the most sense for me to accompany you."

Jessie gaped, fighting to find _thoughts_, never mind words, to properly express her astonishment. It was the most she'd heard James speak to anyone outside of herself since she'd met him in Viridian Forest. More shocking still was that he'd _volunteered_ to help before anyone else had the chance. _'What the hell was _in_ that champagne?'_ she thought in a daze, and almost grabbed the bottle to check the ingredients.

"Is that all right?" he asked.

"Oh." Misty swallowed back her shock and smiled. "Yeah, that's great. Um… thanks. Thanks a lot." She stood, waving a hand at Brock when he moved to join her. "You and Jessie relax in here. We'll be fine."

He looked a little disappointed at that, but didn't argue. "Okay. Stay safe."

James grabbed both his gun and the room key from the table, then followed Misty out the door. She smiled back at the remaining trio. "With _this_ guy shadowing me, I don't think staying safe'll be much of a problem."

It wasn't until the door shut quietly behind them that Jessie finally gasped, "Is he _drunk_?"

Brock grinned, pouring out the remaining champagne into their glasses. "I think he's just acting a little more like James for once. Drink up, Jess: It looks like we've both got something to celebrate tonight."

She frowned. "It's two steps forward, one step back with that man, but I s'pose I'll take whatever I can get. Cheers."

They clinked glasses and sipped at their champagne. Meowth frowned from the edge of the bed. "I knew he was actin' different, but if _dis_ is worth celebratin' den I _know_ sometin's gotta be up. You mind tellin' me what da hell happened ta dat kid I _used_ ta know?"

Jessie smiled weakly. "I don't know everything myself, really, but… No, I guess I don't mind talking about what I _do_ know. Get comfortable, Meowth: It's a long one, and I still don't know if it's got a happy ending or not."

xxx

Tracey knew it had been a bad idea the minute he and Gary had stepped into the bar. It was their second tavern of the night, and the only decent place in town that stayed open past ten, apparently, though in a town as small as Silver it still wasn't very crowded. That was one reason it was so easy to see Ash, seated in the middle of the little bar, overlooking a list of drinks. Apparently he'd just gotten there as well.

"What do you say we go over and have a seat?" Gary asked, already moving towards the League Champ.

"He wasn't in a very good mood earlier. Maybe he just wants to be left alone," Tracey said, which was the nicest way to put it.

Gary shot him an incredulous look. "It's just Ash. If he asks us to leave we will." He shrugged. "He's gotten better, but there's still sorta this wall between him and everyone else, you know? What better place to have a little male bonding than in a bar?"

"What, we're gonna talk beer, sex, and cars with him?" Tracey asked with a laugh. It was a forced laugh, though – he still didn't like the feel of the situation. The tension around the League Champ was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Gary pulled out a chair, asking as he sat down, "You mind?"

Ash barely looked at them. He shrugged, but Tracey saw the way his eyes narrowed and his shoulders tightened. "It's a free country."

The waitress sauntered over to the trio. She was a big, middle-aged woman, who appeared more interested in the gum she was chewing than in taking care of her tables. "What do ya need?"

Gary flashed a winning smile. "Just get me a bottle of Harper Ale, okay beautiful?"

She actually looked down at the group, grinning a crooked smile at the ex-pilot. "Can do. And the rest of you?"

"A Cedar Wheat on tap, please," Tracey said.

"I already ordered," Ash reminded her, "and I've been waiting for like ten minutes."

"Sorry, kid. I'll be back with 'em fast." She winked at Gary, then left.

Tracey stared at his friend. "I can't believe you just flirted with a 40-year old. Are you seriously that desperate?"

Gary leaned back, smiling as the waitress brought their drinks not half a minute later. "Thanks, honey." She winked again, walking off and giggling like a teenager. Gary smirked. "You'd be amazed what a little flattery can do."

Ash ignored them, taking a sip of what was obviously strong liquor, shivering as it struck his throat. Tracey cocked an eyebrow. "How'd you get that? You're only eighteen, right?"

Ash looked at him irritably. "If you have to know, I used my League I.D." Gary shot him a disapproving look, but stayed quiet. Ash saw it. "_What_?"

"Did I say anything?"

"Look, don't try to pull some 'responsible adult' BS on me and tell me how horrible it is to drink underage, since I know you both did it," Ash snapped. Tracey bit his lip; he didn't like the way this was going.

"Guilty as charged, of course," Gary admitted. He couldn't stop there, much to his friend's disappointment. "But... ya know, using an I.D. like that for something like this... seems kinda silly, don't you think?"

"I'll use my I.D. for whatever I damn well want to," Ash snapped. "Just because _you_ don't have one doesn't mean you have to start lecturing me."

Gary sipped at his beer, not ruffled in the least. "Damn, you're tense. Have been all day, now that I think about it." In a joking, sisterly voice, he added, "Would you like to discuss your feelings? We're not here to judge you."

Tracey was hoping Ash would laugh it off and make peace. Luck wasn't with him. "Like you don't know. I wouldn't be surprised if you showed me up in camp this morning just to spite me, then came here to rub it in."

"What? You mean when we reported to Mariko?" Tracey broke in, unintentionally slipping into military terms. "It wasn't anything like that—"

"You know, Trace, the next time I want to talk to you I'll make sure I say your name," Ash barked across the table. Tracey flushed, snapping his teeth together to keep from saying something he knew he'd regret.

"Whoa, calm the hell down," Gary said, raising his hands as if to defend himself, though the lilt in his voice suggested that he didn't _quite_ take any of this seriously – or at least, not as seriously as Ash seemed to think it should be. "I wasn't trying to piss you off, I was just telling her what she wanted to know. Why would you think I'd do that?"

"Oh, come _on_!" Ash cried, slamming his glass onto the table and pointing an accusing finger at the ex-pilot. "Don't play dumb with me! Ever since day one you've put on this better act, like you've got it all together and I'm just some idiot with a lot of luck. I'm sick of it!"

Gary cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah… don't have a _clue_ what you're talking about." He took a sip of his beer; Tracey was at least somewhat consoled by the fact that his friend didn't find this worth getting mad over. He even chuckled a little. "But you know, I gotta say, from the way you're talking, it almost sounds like you're _jealous_ of me."

"_Jealous_?" Ash snorted, his voice rising to an indignant shout. "Why the hell would I be jealous of some self-absorbed, show-off _cripple_?"

The League Champ recoiled as soon as the word left his mouth. He heard a squeak from the bar entrance. Glancing over he saw Misty and James standing in the doorway. How much they had heard he didn't know, but apparently it was plenty.

The bottle in Gary's hand dropped with a clatter. He jumped to his feet, one hand smacking the table and the other raised for the strike. Tracey grabbed his shoulder and tugged him back. He was pink to his ear tips, but his voice came out calmly, calmer than he'd thought possible – because, while he might be more than willing to attack the Champ _himself_, he knew he couldn't let his friend do it. He couldn't let Gary get himself dragged down to Ash's level, not even over something like this. "Leave it, Gar'," he murmured. "It's not worth it. No matter how many times you kick his ass, he isn't going to change."

Gary took a breath to steady himself, then slowly lowered his fist and nodded. He exited first, followed closely by Tracey and James, who managed to give Ash the coldest glares possible. Misty stared at Ash for a silent eternity, then slowly turned and left with the others, head down.

The doors clattered shut, leaving the bar cloaked in silence. A dark form stood up from the corner. Golden eyes flashed icily. "I hope you are very happy with yourself, boy."

Ash slumped down in his chair, watching numbly as Mariko left. He pressed his head into his hands, heaving a sigh and wishing Gary _had_ attacked him. Anything would have been better than what he felt right then: the horrible, stabbing pain of guilt.

xxx

Everyone with the exception of Ash, Gary, and Mariko had gathered in Jessie and James' room, where Tracey had very quickly and heatedly explained the situation to the waiting Brock and Jessie. Now he paced up and down the room, glaring first at the floorboards, then up to the others: to Brock, standing at the nearby window, arms across his chest and eyebrows knit together; to Jessie, sitting on the cot, her face flush with fury, one foot beating out an irate pattern against the ground; to James, his silent presence leaning against the wall just to Jessie's right, tightened jaw the only visible sign of his own anger; and finally to Misty, seated in a chair, hands laced and head turned downwards. She had remained silent throughout his explanation, but even in Tracey's own infuriated state he knew she was hurting more than anyone; was more shocked than anyone. It only made him angrier.

"That bastard," he snarled. "That _bastard_!"

"I figured after his miraculous 'change of heart' he'd start acting a little more like – oh hell, I don't know, like a _human being_, for God's sake – but here he goes again," Jessie growled around the _tap-tap-tap_ of her foot. "And to say something like _that_, and unprovoked, too…" She looked to Tracey, her face softening a fraction of an inch. "Where's Gary?"

"Back in our room. Said he was tired. He tried to brush it off, but it's pretty obvious that he's upset about it," Tracey explained between gritted teeth. "That bastard."

"Ash doesn't mean to do stuff like this," Brock murmured, his forehead pressed to the window pane.

Tracey and Jessie both whirled on him, livid with rage. "How can you—?"

Brock held up a hand, though he didn't turn to face them. "Calm down. What he did was inexcusable, and I'm not trying to defend him," he explained. "But he's not a _bad _kid at heart. You know that as well as I do, though right now I think you'd sooner die than admit it."

"So he's an _accidental_ ass," Tracey snapped. "I still don't see why it gives that bastard the right to—"

"It doesn't," Brock said, interrupting him again. "You keep forgetting that I'm _agreeing_ with you." He frowned, drumming his fingers in a half-annoyed, half-worried rhythm along the window ledge. "But that's just it. This _isn't_ something he plans out. So what do you do about something that's so… spontaneous? How do you get him to _stop_?"

"Oh, I've got a couple ideas," Tracey shot back venomously.

"Ones that _don't_ involve tying rocks to his feet and throwing him in a river?" Brock asked, glancing over his shoulder with a tiny half-smile. Tracey didn't return it, but just went back to pacing the room, a caged lion searching desperately for something to ease its helpless fury. Brock sighed and turned back to the window again, squeezing his eyes shut to fight off an oncoming headache. So much for his blissful evening, he thought with a sigh. "I just don't see what we can possibly _do_ about this. I'm at a total loss."

In the ensuing silence, James looked towards the half-open door. "Are you just going to stand there, Midnight, or are you going to join us?"

The older assassin glided silently into the room. "I heard the entire thing, and may I say that I admire Gary's control – I know some who would have killed a man for a remark like that."

"Not a bad idea," Jessie growled.

"Let's ditch him," Tracey said suddenly. "Between the seven of us we could make the Elite listen to reason. It's not like the bastard helped that much anyway."

Mariko nodded. "Yes, but like it or not, he's the only one who knows the way."

"We could figure it out," he insisted.

Brock rubbed at his temples. "Talk sensibly, Trace. I know you're pissed - we all are - but you can't just jump into something crazy like that."

Tracey whirled on him, but one look at Brock's face, tight with stress, and the fight died out of him. No. He wasn't going to take his frustrations out on other people. He wasn't like _that_ bastard. He took an exhausted seat on the bed, nearly waking the dozing Meowth in the process. "I know you're right, but at this point I just can't make myself care." He looked up at the ceiling, taking a couple of deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself. "Okay. So. What are our other options?"

Jessie started pacing in Tracey's place. "I'm still leaning towards killing him, or at least kicking the piss out of the little brat."

"We do nothing." Misty's remark almost went unheard, she said it so softly.

"Nothing?" James repeated, disbelief ringing in his tone. "You heard what he said—"

"I don't mean," she said, louder now, "that we act like it didn't happen. But why do we have to deal with him at all? Our only duty is to get him to the Elite alive. I know what he said, but it's not worth sacrificing a chance to stop this stupid war. It just isn't. I… I think Gary would agree with me, too."

"So, what? We give him the silent treatment?" Jessie snorted. "Seems kinda childish to me."

"I wouldn't exactly call 'kicking the piss' out of him a mature plan of action," Mariko reprimanded. Jessie blushed. "At this point, it seems like our best option. But, since you prefer the democratic way, we shall take a vote." Mariko's eyes flashed angrily for a fraction of second, but then she closed them and nodded resolutely. "I'm in favor."

James nodded. "I agree."

Jessie muttered a couple harsh words under her breath. "Fine. Me too."

"If there's nothing better... then all right," Brock said.

They looked towards Tracey, who was still watching the ceiling, hands gripped against the bed sheets. "Doesn't matter anyway, I'm already outvoted. But… okay, fine. We don't risk the mission. Fine. I can deal with that." He stood quickly, his bunched fists telling a far different story from his words as he headed for the door. "I'm going back to my room, see how Gar's doing. Pray that I don't see that bastard on the way down, because I really don't know what I'd do at this point."

"I don't think you're the only one," James assured him, glancing from angry face to angry face. Tracey managed a tired smile, then disappeared down the hallway.

Misty still hadn't looked away from the floor. Brock hesitated for a moment, then walked over and pressed a hand to her shoulder. "You gonna be okay, Mist?"

"I'll manage," she said, meeting his eyes and forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Sorry your party got ruined."

"Not your fault," he assured her. "Anything you need?"

"Um, do you mind if I stay in your room tonight?" she asked. "If I saw _him_ right now…" Misty swallowed hard, and Brock instinctively rubbed at her shoulder. She pressed her hand to his absent-mindedly, forcing out another smile and even trying a weak joke. "Well, I might act like Little Miss Rational, but if I saw him I'd probably forget all about the greater good and be a lot more focused on beating a lesson into the greater part of his face."

Brock chuckled. "That's fine. I'd feel the same way." As an afterthought, he added, "As long as Mariko—"

"Not at all. Unlike the rest of you, trivial emotions will not prevent me from sleeping well, regardless of my roommate's identity."

Brock blinked. "Oh, no, I didn't mean that you had to switch rooms. You and Misty could share the bed, and—"

She interrupted him again, this time with one of her little eye-smiles. "And we would all suffocate from attempting to live atop one another." She shook her head, already moving to the door. "As I said, it won't bother me a bit to change rooms. I'll get my things. Oh, and you needn't worry about me getting into the room - I am quite skilled when it comes to picking locks."

xxx

Gary leaned against the railing of the hotel's small balcony, alone with the winking street lights of the town and the chilly wind of an autumn that was fast becoming winter. He shivered and tugged his coat closer to his wiry frame, hesitating as he brushed against one of the inner pockets. He sighed and slipped his hand into the pocket, pulling out a battered pack of Black Stone cigarettes and a lighter. He stared at them for a long moment before, with a little, "Oh, the hell with it," he gave in and popped open the carton, pulling out one of the slim cylinders and pressing it between his lips. Moments later the faint scent of tobacco mixed with blackberry drifted into both his mouth and nostrils, softening at least the sharpest edges of his nerves. Not to say that he was angry anymore – he wasn't, or at least not like he had been. His temper was too short-lived for that. No, there was something else rubbing at him, keeping him awake even as the hotel lights winked off one by one… and, it…

"Oh. Am I intruding?"

He jumped, nearly dropping his cigarette as he whirled to face the newcomer. He relaxed a little when he saw Jessie standing in the doorway, hovering between outside and inside. The way she watched him, like she wasn't sure if he might snap at her or burst into tears, told him in an instant that she'd been given all the details on the evening. It only made him want to appear more "okay"than ever. "Oh… nah, it's fine. I wasn't really… I mean, I just couldn't really sleep is all, so…"

"Yeah. Me neither." She stepped out onto the balcony, joining him against the railing. Her eyes flicked to the cigarette dangling between his index and middle finger. "You smoke?"

"Huh? Oh, no." He blinked at the cigarette and laughed weakly. "Well, sometimes. But don't tell anyone, okay? Trace thinks I quit, and I just _know_ Misty'd give me hell about it."

She grinned. "Give me one and I'll take your secret to the grave."

He chuckled and handed over the packet, lighting the tip of her cigarette for her. "Didn't know _you_ smoked, either."

"I started after I got out of the war. I was doing a pack a day for a while, but I finally kicked the habit about a year ago." He gave her an _Oh, really?_ smirk and she scowled good-naturedly. "Okay, I _mostly_ kicked the habit. I really only smoke 'em when I'm stressed, or pissed off, or drinking, or…"

"Awake?" he finished with a teasing grin, though his heart wasn't quite in it. She chuckled and nodded. The pair lapsed into silence for a moment, until finally Gary scratched at the shadow of stubble along his chin and said, a little reluctantly, "That's right… you fought in the war for a while, didn't you?"

Jessie snorted. "If you want to call it that, then sure." He waited for more, so she said, "Well, I don't know how much you knew about it, but right when the war started to get nasty Kanto began getting all these guerilla hits from small terrorist factions. The police forces got stretched thin, so they started searching for other options. Namely: the newly-captured Team Rocket." She shook her head in disgust. "Petty criminals working as Kanto's defense force. Stupid, right? Not even a real military unit. It's no wonder we didn't make it a year."

"So I'm guessing you didn't like it much?"

"It wasn't really about 'like' or 'dislike' for us. We were afraid of prison. This felt like the easier way out, so we took it." She sighed, staring at their twin trails of smoke streaking upwards. "But if I had to give an answer to that… then I _did_ like it, at least once I got used to it. Knowing I was protecting people, doing something _helpful _for once, was… " She laughed weakly. "I mean, can you believe it? People would actually come up and _thank_ me. _Me_, who couldn't even succeed as a _criminal_! Feeling needed like that… feeling _wanted_ like that…" Her smile turned into a small frown. "Yeah. At the beginning, I liked it. But I… _came_ to hate it. For the friends that it killed… and for what it did to James."

"What did it do to him?" Gary asked.

She blinked at him, then shook her head and chuckled weakly. "Right. I keep forgetting you didn't really know us before the war. Well, trust me, the James _you _know is a far cry from the one I grew up with, and it wasn't just the 'growing up' that made it happen. It was… something bigger than that. He's gotten a little better recently, but still…" She pressed her lips together and gazed unseeingly at the stars, as if she were looking at something much farther away than even those lights. "D'you know, it was my decision to join up? I mean technically we could all make our own choice, but they all – James, Meowth, and Mondo – they were all waiting to see what I'd say. That's how it'd always been. I knew that. So I did what I thought would be best: I found a path that'd keep us all together." She took a long draw on her cigarette, closing her eyes to the darkness. "Sometimes I wonder if that was the exact moment when I killed them. Mondo, and James, and maybe even Meowth, in a way. Maybe I didn't kill their bodies, but… that war took something from all of them, in one way or another. Maybe took it away forever. And thinking that, now, I really hate those days in the Rocket Camp." She chuckled, a sound that was both scornful and frail. "Pretty stupid, right?"

"Not really," Gary told her quietly, thinking back to a quiet afternoon in Pallet Town when two boys who barely knew each other had decided to try for something courageous.

"_Don't be dumb, Tracey. You're underage, and besides Gramps would kill me for it. He already thinks I'm nuts; the last thing I need is for him to find out I tried sneaking a sixteen-year old into the _Air Force_ of all things."_

"_Come on, Gary! By the time I'm eighteen the war might already be over, and then I wouldn't have been able to do anything to help! With your family's influence, I'm sure you could pull some strings for me – and besides, they're so desperate for recruits I bet they wouldn't look too hard into my _real_ age."_

"_There's no way you're cut out for this kind of thing. You'd just go home crying after a week."_

"_If you think that's true then what's the problem? Just help me get in, and then _I'll _take care of whether I go home crying or not."_

"_Geez, Trace, you're really serious about this, huh? Well, I guess it wouldn't hurt anything. Only don't hold me back, got it? Because there's no way in hell _I'm_ going home with my tail between my legs, not for anything in the world."_

"Yeah…" Gary assured her. "I think I know a little bit about helping people into things they shouldn't've done."

"So what about you, Mr. Crimson Band?" Jessie asked, and any hints of weakness in her voice had disappeared again. "Was the Air Force heaven or hell for you?"

"Me?" Gary rolled his eyes. "Hell, I _loved_ it out there. Loved flying, loved visiting all those exotic places you only see on TV, loved trying new foods and hooking up with new women on my leave days and just living every second by the seat of my pants, like the next morning didn't even exist. Sometimes I figured it probably wouldn't. But even then, when things'd get tough, I still loved it; loved that heroic feeling, like I was doing something meaningful, protecting my home, even if that meant I had to die for it. And," he added with a little grin, "I loved that I was damn good at it. And I was, you know? I mean, I was _good_. Sometimes, up in that sky, there are times when there's no one except you who can do what you're doing. You are _the hero_. You know? Man… there's nothing like that feeling, of knowing that there's something that only you can do. Not the guy sitting next to you. Not some famous politician or movie star. Not…" He hesitated, frowned at the cigarette in his hand, took another long draw of it, and finally finished, "Ash. Not anybody."

He had intended to just let it end with that, but he could feel Jessie frowning at him, waiting for more, and he knew that he'd already gone in too deep to pull out now. "That's… probably what it was about, from the very beginning," he admitted. "The whole reason I joined up, I mean. Because I was still embarrassed about getting my ass handed to me on Indigo. Because I couldn't figure out why _he_ could do it but I couldn't. All my life I'd been told again and again how smart and gifted and talented I was, that I could do anything I wanted. _Everything_ came easy to me. I was the brilliant little Oak boy, the family's pride and joy. 'Special.' But then Ash came along, and…" A half-laugh burst from his throat as he shook his head slowly. "So stupid, now. But that's how it was. I was just looking for something – _anything_ – that I could do and _he_ couldn't. Then the war happened, and I found my chance.

"But then I got out there, and it wasn't about one-upping someone or finding out if I really was so 'special' or not. It was about training, and then about succeeding, and then just about surviving. About protecting the friends around you, and the family back home. Let no one down. Save as many lives as you can. The people you love, the people you hate… none of it mattered out there. Everyone looked the same from the air, and no one wanted to send a teammate home in a coffin. So you celebrated fast. And you mourned fast. And you bought a round of drinks for anyone and everyone, and you toasted all your different home towns, no matter if your old universities were rivals or if some gym leader gypped you out of a badge. None of it mattered out there. Not a damn bit of it.

"And before I knew it," he finished quietly, "I'd stopped caring about all that petty bullshit from before. So maybe it _had_ turned me into something special. Or maybe it'd just turned me into an adult."

"So… you're okay with it?" Jessie asked. "With how… everything turned out?" He didn't have to look at her to know that she'd just sneaked a glance at his leg. "You're really okay with it?"

"…No," he admitted, pulling one last long drag from his cigarette before grinding the butt out on the railing. "I'm grateful for what the Air Force showed me about the world. And I'm grateful to my buddies: the ones I saw buried, the ones that are still out there fighting, and the one who came back to Kanto with me. I am. I really am. But…" He ran a hand through his short hair, one of the many reminders of his years in the military. "There was a moment, about two years back, when it finally hit me that we weren't doing what we wanted to do. What we were supposed to do. We kept fighting, and killing, and dying, too, but it didn't make Kanto any safer. Bombs kept getting dropped. Riots kept breaking out. Pewter partially destroyed. Viridian a slum. Fuchsia in flames. Cinnabar a hole in the ground. Cerulean a hole in the ground. Pallet..." He swallowed hard. "And I started to realize: I wasn't protecting anything. I was just killing a bunch of people who were trying to do the same thing.

"And for _what_?" he snapped, pressing his forehead into his hands. "What was it all _for_? Did some general somewhere have a great big plan for us, or were we just getting sent after the nearest enemy, the nearest 'someone' who looked easy to attack? I mean for God's _sake_, I literally _gave my left leg_ for this war, and now…" He slid his hands down from his forehead to his mouth, staring out into the town and finishing in a lost, frightened whisper, "Now I don't even really know why."

He blinked and tensed as a hand fell timidly, awkwardly on his shoulder. He glanced up at Jessie to find her looking at him, though she quickly looked away again, shifting her feet as her hand kneaded comfortingly into his shoulder. _'Pitiful,' _he thought with a half-smile that said as much, and even felt his breath huff out of his nose in a sound that almost constituted a laugh. "Sorry," he muttered, looking away again, "I don't know _why_ I'm telling you all this. Something about what happened tonight just… Anyway. Damn. Sorry. This is a pretty crappy exchange for one cigarette, huh?"

"It's fine."

"No, it's really not." He forced a chuckle. "I probably should've just done the considerate thing and gone off and had a little breakdown somewhere, save everyone a lot of trouble."

"I wouldn't recommend it," she told him with a strained smile, dropping her hand from his shoulder again. "It doesn't do much good."

"And what _would_ you recommend, then?"

Jessie shrugged. "Pretty much what you're already trying to do, I guess. Just… learn how to live with it. The good parts, and the bad parts, and the unanswered parts, too. You toughen up, and you live with it." She glanced away, back out over the balcony, that same cold, faraway glaze in her eyes again. "Even if it turns your whole body into a callous," she finished in a murmur.

Gary frowned at her for a minute, half tempted to press her for more information, but she looked too close to the line between strength and vulnerability, and he didn't think he had the right to cross that. Not with a woman like Jessie, who seemed so determined to handle her own affairs, to run her own life. Maybe even schedule her own private breakdowns, he thought with a tiny, humorless smile. So he just followed her gaze out into the darkness of the tiny town, and up to the foreboding mountain peak stretching above them, and sent out a little hope that someone more suitable for the job might be able to give Jessie a hand with that frailty that he'd glimpsed. He figured she deserved that. _'If only for listening to me bitch for so long.'_

"He is, you know," Jessie said suddenly.

"Huh?" Gary whipped his head around to face her again. "Who's what?"

"Ash. He's jealous of you." Gary snorted and she frowned. "I'm serious. Listen, I've been jealous of a lot of people in my life, so I know it when I see it. He wants what you have."

"Facial hair?" Gary cracked weakly.

Jessie laughed in spite of herself. "But that's what I mean! You can still make _jokes_, even now, even when you're about as down as I think I've ever seen you! Because _you_ know how to keep going, even after everything that happened _you_ found a way to keep walking forward. _He_ couldn't. He just… sort of stopped. That's the way it looks to me, anyway. Like an old-fashioned watch that someone forgot to wind. Those kinds of watches, they're always jealous of the ones that keep ticking."

"You sound like you know all about it."

"I've been both kinds, at one time or another," she told him with a strained smile. "And I've said some pretty awful things to people when I was stopped. So maybe I should sympathize with him, a little." She scowled and looked away. "Not that I _do_. But I probably _should_." And just as quickly she turned back to him again. "Not that _you_ oughta sympathize with him, though. _You_ oughta punch him right in his stubborn nose. Maybe he'd be less of an idiot if someone rearranged his face a little bit."

Gary chuckled but shook his head. "Nah, wouldn't be much point in doing it, now. I'm not even really all that mad about it anymore. I was more upset… that…"

'_That maybe Ash was only _saying _what everyone else was _thinking_,' _he finished inwardly. But of course that wasn't true, if even Jessie, who barely knew him, thought that Ash actually had a _reason_ to be jealous of him. So maybe everyone helped him out a little more than he wanted, and asked if he was "doing all right" a little more than they did anyone else, but… but no. They didn't pity him, or think of him as a burden. As a "cripple." That was the important part.

So instead of finishing his sentence he just grinned and shrugged. "Ah, I don't even know anymore. Guess I'm not mad about_ that_, either. And if that's the case, then I think I've finally run out of things to be all moody about. I'm gonna turn in for the night. How about you?"

"I'm not all that tired. I think I'll stay out for a little longer," she told him, stepping to the side to give him room to walk past. "See you in the morning, all right?"

"Sure," he agreed, sliding open the doors that led back into the hotel lobby. He hesitated in the frame, torn between gratefulness and a few shreds of embarrassment, but eventually the former won out. "Oh, and Jessie?"

"Mm?" she asked without turning around.

"Um… I wanted to… I mean, to you… for letting me sort of… you know?"

She chuckled. "You're about as bad at saying 'thank you' as I am." She waved a dismissive hand over her shoulder. "It's fine. I blew off some steam on you, too. Let's just call it even."

"Buy you a pack of cigs when we get back to Pewter?"

"Now why would you do something like that?" she asked, and he could feel her smile even if he couldn't actually see it. "Remember? Neither of us actually smoke."

xxx

Ash's feet dragged slowly along the hotel floor as he grudgingly made his way back to his room. He felt like dirt. Correction: he felt _lower_ than dirt. "Ash Ketchum, you are the scum of the earth," he murmured to no one in particular, fumbling with his key and turning it in the lock. He opened the door.

"It's about time you got back."

Much to Ash's surprise, Mariko was sitting in the bed, the small cot shoved into a far corner. She was reading one of the hotel's magazines, a reading lamp by the bedside turned on at half power. "Where's Misty?" he asked numbly.

"She was quite upset by your display at the bar this evening. She and I switched rooms." Mariko went back to the magazine. "So unkind of you not to leave a key - these hotel doors are difficult to break in to."

He didn't respond. He didn't have the energy. Wordlessly he got ready for bed. His gaze landed on the tiny cot, practically rusting away in the corner, then back over to the much smaller Yumaran woman. "I'm too tall for the cot."

"You're welcome to share the bed with me," Mariko offered, not once glancing up from the article. "Of course, if you were to try taking advantage of me, I really would have to kill you."

Ash didn't want to talk. He wanted to crawl into a corner and die. Doing neither, he slowly climbed into the small bed. It creaked, but miraculously stayed together. He curled up, facing the wall and wishing with all his might to sink straight through the floor.

"The others were quite disturbed by that tantrum of yours," Mariko began idly. Ash moaned and stuffed his head into his pillow, but she didn't seem to notice. "In fact, they had to call a meeting afterwards to decide exactly what to do." He thought he heard her chuckle. "My favorite was Jessie's suggestion that we 'kick the piss out of the brat,' but Tracey's ideas of ditching you were honorable as well."

"And?" he asked bitterly. He found that he couldn't care either way, as long as whatever they decided to do would help take some of the weight off his chest.

"They finally chose to do nothing at all, courtesy of Misty. You should be glad to have her for a friend – even in a time like this she managed to see the complete picture."

Ash didn't answer, though he felt Mariko's eyes boring into the back of his skull. Finally he rolled over to face her. "_What_?"

"Boy, you have to grow up sooner or later. Brock believes that you did not intend to act as you did, and judging from your current behavior I am inclined to agree with him. However, I am _also_ inclined to agree that calling it an 'accident' does nothing to warrant forgiveness."

'_So Brock hates me now too, huh?' _he thought, burying his head into his pillow. But before he could so much as _begin_ to feel self-pity, Mariko was speaking again, her voice crackling matter-of-factly across the room, clear and concise and impossible to ignore. "Stop pouting into your pillow and look at me, boy." And he found that he had to. "Now I suppose you feel sorry for what you have done." He nodded weakly and she snorted. "And do you suppose _that_ will excuse everything? It's all well and good to throw a fit and then feel guilty about it afterwards - when you are _ten_. But, as both a young man and the League Champion, that sort of behavior will never do."

She fixed him with an intense stare that seemed to see straight through him. Ash couldn't keep his own eyes on that gaze for very long without looking away. "It's about time that you face your own imperfections, instead of taking your frustrations out on others. If you are upset at your own ignorance, then fix it – but do _not_ accuse someone else of _making_ you look like a fool. You needed no one's help this morning in _that_ task."

He felt his face burning and turned away again. "Can I go to bed now, or are you gonna stay up all night _listing_ the things that're wrong with me?"

"I suspect you know them well enough yourself," she told him. He relaxed a little, but immediately tensed again when her voice shifted into an almost mothering snap. "Will you sit there and _pout_, then? Is _that_ your solution? To curl up and act like a sniveling child?"

"Well what do you _want_ me to do?" he shouted back, whirling on her with his hands spread apart. "Everyone _already_ hates me! What the hell else is _left_? You want me to leave? Vanish into the wilderness and never come back? Or how 'bout I just stick that damn gun of yours in my mouth and – bang! – fix it like that! Would _that_ make you happy? Would _that _fix everything?"

"Stop being so dramatic," she snapped, disgust ringing in her tone. "I'm not asking you to move mountains, boy. I'm simply asking that you become something your mother could look at and be proud of."

Ash had his mouth open for a reply, but at her final words he found that he didn't have any breath to argue with.

'_Something… my mother could be…?'_

"Your first step," Mariko continued, though Ash was barely listening anymore, "will be to find your own answers for once. _I _am going to bed. I only hope that you will fix the mess you have made by morning." She sighed, leaning over and flicking off the room's single lamp, throwing them both into darkness. "I don't think you will, but I invite you to surprise me."

The covers shifted, the bed creaked, and the room fell into silence. But still Ash sat in bed, staring blankly into the murky darkness lit by only a streetlight from outside. _'Something… my mother could be…?_' he repeated to himself, numbly at first, then sharper and sharper as the icy knot grew and settled into his stomach. Because he was wrong. Because Mariko was right. And because, if his mother were still alive – if she were still somewhere in Pallet, tending her garden, looking after the neighbor's kids, taking dinner to the Oak family – he knew, right down into that frozen knot in his stomach that she would never, _never_ be able to look at him proudly. _Nobody_ would be able to look at him like that, not as he was now. Not after tonight. Not Brock. Not Misty. Not his mother. Nobody.

And, knowing that, everything else fell into place. He knew exactly what he needed to do. And this time, it _wasn't_ going to be for himself.

After what seemed like a long enough time for Mariko to fall asleep, he dug around in his bag and pulled out a flashlight, pencil, and paper. He stared at the blank sheets for a moment, then turned his eyes up to the ceiling, gazing into the shadows as if searching for a familiar face, or perhaps just a comforting word. He swallowed hard, licked his lips, looked back down at the paper again and, unable to stop the tears, pressed his head against the notebook and wept quietly.

"Mom, I know I screwed up, but I'm gonna do what I can to make it better. I just hope I'm doing the right thing, this time."

* * *

**8/15/08**

No exciting author's notes this time, but instead you get a super-sized profile and a Bonus Story! Why? Because Gary made me do it. _(sweatdrop)_

**Gary Oak**

**The Basics**  
-I know people typically assume Gary is the same age as Ash, but I've made him twenty-three in _2k5_, six years _older_ than Ash. The explanation for this is actually kind of long and detailed, but if you're curious then drop me a PM and I'll explain. Officially speaking he and Brock are the same age at the moment, but Gary will turn in another few months, so there's about an eight-month difference between the two.  
-Gary's tall (between 5'11" and 6'), but because he has to lean on his crutch a bit he comes across as standing a little shorter. Like Tracey, he's got a dark tan and short hair, though unlike his friend he decides to keep his short even after he gets back from the military, so it's just a shade longer than a buzz cut. He has a couple of small laceration scars on his arms, a zigzag of a scar across the right side of his forehead just below his hairline, a healed bullet wound in his left shoulder, and a healed knife wound in his right thigh. His left leg is missing from the knee down. Incidentally, he's also the only character who you'll occasionally see with a graze of stubble on his face, because sometimes he just doesn't feel like shaving. (_laughs)_  
-Although he joined the Air Force, due to the wide scope of the war there were several times when he found himself in grounded, army-style situations, so he's quite skilled with firearms as well.

**Wartime History**  
-As he explains in this chapter, Gary was looking for something to prove when the war began. He had just essentially been denied his life's goal, and he was at a loss for what he was supposed to do with himself. When Kanto officially entered the war, Gary jumped on the opportunity to prove his worth – and, though he wouldn't admit it until this chapter of _2k5_, to show everyone that he could do something that Ash couldn't. He excelled in basic training, though his tendency to smart off to his superiors meant that he never received much promotion. He ended the war as a lieutenant, which in the Kanto military meant he was the leader of one of the aerial combat units.  
-Due to the nature of the war, the pilots weren't able to go home during their time with the military, but the Air Force would give them designated leave months, where they were able to stay in some of the local, allied cities. During one such trip in his second year, Gary was hanging out with some of his buddies in a bar when a Rialan woman in disguise attacked them, demanding their lives in exchange for her family's (Apparently a Kanto force had bombed her hometown). Gary intercepted her before she could get to the others, taking a knife stab to the leg in the process. He refused to kill the woman, but he did wind up breaking her arm. The experience was his first time really seeing the harm they were causing to their enemies – including those who weren't fighting. It really rattled him, and served to make him a lot more serious about his work.  
-During a simple ground mission, Gary's unit was hit by a surprise attack from guerillas. Tracey noticed them fast enough to throw both Gary and another soldier to the ground, though he was shot in the process. Gary and the other soldier managed to drag Tracey and three other wounded survivors into a nearby ditch, where they took shelter from enemy fire. The two soldiers held their position for almost a full hour – though not without sustaining injuries, such as the bullet wound in Gary's shoulder – before help came. Two of the injured soldiers died during that time. Though Gary and the other soldier were declared heroes, both looked upon the incident as a personal failure – Gary especially, since he was the ranking officer. Again, it served to make him more serious about his work, and maybe a little more cynical, too.  
-Though sex isn't mentioned much in _2k5_ because it just wasn't the focus of Seventh Grade Me's mind, I think it's fairly obvious that Gary is the most experienced of the _2k5_ group. He had no problems going into towns on his leave days and, ah-hem, "enjoying the company" of the local women. (Don't worry, kids, I promise he used protection. Most of the time. _(sweatdrop)_) He also had a few trysts with some of the unit's nurses. It wasn't strictly prohibited, but it _was_ frowned upon. Gary didn't really care. _(laughs) _He eased up a lot as he got older, to the point where he wasn't really "with" anybody during his last six months or so with the Air Force (though that may've had more to do with Erika… but more on that under Relationships)  
-In a scene I never wrote but, in retrospect, _really_ should have, Gary was up flying with his unit, doing a routine sweep of the land, when they were attacked by enemy Yumaran pilots (I suppose it's worth noting that Nomekop air battles are more similar to our world's WWI battles then to modern military aviation tactics). They were caught unawares, and were poorly equipped for fighting. Gary ordered everyone into a full retreat, but one of his unit's planes was hit. To allow his man time to escape, Gary attacked the Yumaran pilots, working almost as a shield for the damaged aircraft. His tactic worked, but at a price: Gary's plane was hit at a low altitude and he went into a tailspin into the jungle. Through a lot of skillful maneuvering, he managed to crash-land, but his plane sustained serious damage. And… oh, hell. You know what? I'll just show you. Check out the** Bonus Story** at the very end of the profile. At any rate, it's this incident that earns his Crimson Band for bravery (My favorite lines about this medal are ones that never actually made it into the story. Erika's talking to Gary after the crash, telling him that everyone in his unit made it out alive thanks to him. She mentions that he's getting a Crimson Band for it. She says it's a huge honor, and then:

"_I like the honor of not having to bury anyone a whole lot more," Gary told her solemnly – but when she turned to look at him, he couldn't help but break into a huge smile. "'Course a Crimson Band's nothin' to sneeze at, either. Doesn't that make me like a hero or something? Erika, did you know you're sitting next to a hero? Here, get me a pen and I'll give you an autograph. You can frame it when you get back to Celadon, put it over your fireplace, tell your grandkids about it…"  
She rolled her eyes and swatted him lightly on the arm. "If that ego of yours gets any bigger, we'll have to give it its own hospital bed."_

Shame I could never find an actual place in the story for this scene (_le-sigh_).)

**Relationships**  
-Although Gary sometimes came across as rather rebellious, especially when he decided to join the war, he really was very close to his family. He and his parents had a relaxed relationship (partially because they spoiled him rotten when he was a kid), he and his sister had a squabbling sort of friendship, and he had a deep respect for his grandfather's work and ideals, even if the two _did_ fight about the war almost constantly during his last year in Pallet Town.  
-Gary was never particularly close to Tracey when the two knew each other back in Pallet Town, so when Tracey first came to him about joining the war, he kind of laughed in his face _(sweatdrop)_. Tracey's passion piqued his curiosity enough that he decided to help him get in, and his determination during basic training earned him Gary's respect. The two were bunkmates during basic, and became friends in that time as well. Their time together in the war solidified and deepened their relationship. Though sometimes Tracey can get on Gary's nerves, deep down he really does think of Tracey like a brother, and admires his loyalty (even as it drives him crazy, haha).  
-After Ash won Indigo, Gary became good friends with Brock and Misty, both of whom stuck around in Pallet to study with Professor Oak. I like to imagine his sense of humor won him Misty's friendship, and his skill with the ladies won him Brock's (_laughs_).  
-Although I'm sure it goes without saying at this point, Gary and Ash never _did_ get along very well. _(sweatdrop)_ It seems that one of them has always been jealous of the other at some time or another, for various reasons, which makes them cold at best and downright nasty at worst. Though it seems that they might (finally!) both be trying to mend some of those frayed threads now, I seriously doubt they'll ever be good friends.  
-It's not made glaringly obvious, but Gary and Erika have a sort of mutual affection towards one another, though they've never been in an actual "relationship." Gary took an almost immediate interest in her, but Erika wouldn't fool around: she expected dedication from _anyone_ with whom she got physically involved. Gary was in no mood for that kind of relationship, so the two became good friends instead. As such, Erika learned quite a bit about his trysts with the nurses and the town girls. Of course, this meant that when Gary matured a little and actually got serious about Erika, she thought he was full of it. _(sweatdrop) _She warmed up to him over time, but didn't really start believing him until shortly before his plane crashed.

**General Ramblings**  
I don't know if I've made it clear enough yet, but just in case you weren't sure: I. Love. Gary. Massive, _massive_ amounts of love. Which is funny, considering I really had nothing but distaste for him during the Indigo episodes. Of course, after he gets beaten during the League tournament he becomes not only less obnoxious, but downright likeable, which I guess is why I decided to go ahead and throw him into _2k5_. Now, I'm so very glad that I did.

Like with Tracey, I had a lot of flexibility when it came to developing his character. Though we don't see much of him in the show, we _do_ see that he's confident, has an interest in the ladies (haha), and is both intelligent and talented, at least when it comes to Pokemon, so I made sure to incorporate all of those qualities and mature them a bit. Beyond that, Gary had always struck me as a "carefree on the outside, serious on the inside" kind of person, which was the basic model I used when developing his character. I can imagine him on the Titanic, cracking jokes even as he rushes the other passengers into lifeboats (He really is a big softie at heart, though he'd sooner die than admit it, haha).

He's got a very straightforward personality, which allows him to keep life fairly simple. He never lets himself stew in anything for very long, but instead thinks: _Okay, this is how things are, and this is what I'm gonna do about it._ Still, as he shows Jessie in this chapter, there are some things that he still finds himself worrying about from time to time. He's also tough as nails, though, so he manages to push through one way or another. I think his years in the military were a double-edged sword, serving to make him more responsible, but also more cynical. Even so, Gary continues to meet each day with a stubborn grin, an "I _dare_ you to bring me down" kind of attitude. I admire that about him, even if I, like Tracey, find myself groaning over his mulish pride from time to time. (_laughs)_

Now normally this is the part where I say "thanks for reading" and end the author's note… But Gary got into my head and prodded me into writing an extra bit about him. He does that _way_ more often than is probably healthy (_sweatdrop)_.So I will say – Thanks for reading! And then I'll leave you with…

**Bonus Story:**** "Lucky"  
**

Gary stripped off his flight mask and slammed his hand against the button for the airlock. The glass above his head slid backwards and he heaved himself forward, throwing himself to the side of the craft and retching violently. Once he was sure he was finished he slid back into the plane, head reeling, lungs gulping down the sticky-sweet tropical air.

He waited until he could see straight again, then shifted to his other side and tried to wriggle out of the plane, but found his leg pinned inside the craft. His adrenaline was rushing too strongly for him to feel pain; too strongly for him to even properly think. For a long, frantic moment he struggled to release himself, much the way a wild animal works to break from a trap, but he soon realized it was a wasted effort. He collapsed against the side of the aircraft, panting, shaking, praying that his people would track down his signal before his enemies did.

As his heart began to slow and the sharp stabs of pain – followed shortly by the metallic scent of blood – at last began to reach him, he heard the sound of tires crunching in underbrush, and then the low rumble of an engine. _'Yumarans.' _Gary's eyes widened and his heart slammed into overdrive again. Yumar was bound by no international code of what constituted as "humane" or "inhumane" treatment of prisoners. He had heard the horror stories about what happened to soldiers taken by their men. He felt a thrill of fear shoot through his chest. _'No. No. No no no no no. Can't let them. Can't let them take me.' _

He fumbled for the gun at his belt, forced his hands to remain steady long enough so he could grip the weapon, dragging it from the holster at his side. The truck's engine ground to a halt just to the other side of the trees. Gary's breath hissed out between his teeth as he held the gun up, squinting through blurred vision at the spot where he knew they would break through. He hesitated, hands trembling from the effort. He was too weak. Too unsteady. He'd never be able to take all of them. They'd get him first.

No, they wouldn't.

His index finger shook against the trigger as he turned the gun on himself, the butt pressed tight under his chin. '_Fuck them. Fuck them! I'll die before I let 'em touch me.'_

The ferns parted. His finger tightened.

And Erika stepped out of the trees, flanked on either side by men wearing Kanto uniform.

"Oh, Gary, thank God!"

His hands forgot how to hold the gun and it slipped between them, clattering against the side of the plane before landing with a dull _thud_ on the muddy ground. He watched as Erika, followed by more medics and military men, came running towards him, though he found that his vision was blurring so badly he couldn't even properly see them, now. Was he really that far gone? And why did his cheeks feel so wet all of a sudden?

"Erika, Erika, Erika," he found himself sobbing, and wondered when he'd grabbed her hand between his own. "You're like a dream. Like an angel. It's okay now. It's okay it's okay it's okay…"

"Hush," she whispered, squeezing his hands before releasing them again. He tried to keep a grip on her, but found that he didn't have the strength. Even his head was drooping, laying against the warm metal of the plane, though his eyes never left Erika's, even as she dropped her gaze from his face to quickly take in the rest of him. "He's pretty scraped up, but nothing serious. Concussion too, I'd guess," she reported, touching the left side of his face.

"He's lucky to be in such good condition," someone behind her remarked.

She replied in a grunt that was neither a "yes" nor a "no." Gary sighed under the cool touch of her fingers against his swollen skin, feeling his eyelids beginning to fall, but the sharp press of her hand around his chin brought him back with a start. "Stay with me, Lieutenant. We're bringing the jeep around so we can get you out of here, but I need you to talk to me right now. I need to know if anything hurts. Do you understand?"

"Mm-hmmm…"

She patted him again until his eyes came open fully. "Good. Now hold still." He did as she said as one of the other medics snapped on a neck brace. "Let's get him out of this plane."

"Can't." He giggled weakly. "Stuck."

"What?" Erika's eyes widened and she pressed her palms to his face. "What do you mean, you're stuck?" Gary's gaze trailed sleepily away but she jerked him back to her. "Lieutenant Oak, focus! What's wrong? What can't you move?"

"Leg," he murmured, feeling his words beginning to slur together. He smiled weakly, confused. "How'juu know I'as stuck?"

She didn't respond, but instead just disappeared from his range of vision. He felt a brief wave of panic, but the sharp snap of her voice, so foggy to his ears, assured him that she was nearby even if she wasn't within sight. She was speaking rapid-fire, too fast for him to understand, but there was an urgency in her tone that told him that he shouldn't try to interrupt. A chorus of "Yes, ma'ams," greeted her instructions, and Gary heard the truck rumbling ever closer, fighting its way through the underbrush. He thought that he'd probably just go to sleep now, since everyone was pretty much ignoring him, but then Erika came back into sight, hands pressed to his cheeks again to keep his gaze focused on her.

"Listen to me, Lieutenant. You're trapped, but we're going to get you out. We don't have anything that'll put you all the way under, but you're not going to feel any pain, okay? I'm going to make sure this doesn't hurt you."

"Okay," he whispered. "You'reso good t'me… Hey, 'm sorry, okay? I'll b'good t'you too, fr'm now on… I mea'it… n'more messin' 'round, I'm see-rous…"

"Shh," she said again. She paused to glance over her shoulder at someone who was too much of a blur for him to properly see. The other person said something, and he heard her answer, "No, I think I should stay with him."

That made him smile. "Mm sooo lucky."

"Yeah," she said darkly. "Lucky. Hold still, okay? You might feel a little prick."

"Ba-boom _tish_," Gary said, imitating a rim shot.

One of the medics laughed, and even Erika had to chuckle. "Half-conscious and still cracking perverse jokes. Figures. Okay. They just gave you the sedative." He hadn't felt anything. "You'll start to feel numb, and you won't be able to move your body below your neck, but don't panic, okay? It's only temporary, to help you."

"What're they doin'?"

"It's your leg," she said.

"Stuck."

"I know, you told me already," she said, though he didn't remember it. "We're getting it out, though. It's the only way we can make sure to save you."

He knew there was something important that she was saying without actually saying it, but he couldn't for the life of him think of what it was. "It'll be okay?"

"You're going to live."

"An' you'll stay?"

"Yes. I'll be with you. If you start to feel scared, just call my name, okay?" She looped one of her hands in his own, pressing the other to the uninjured side of his face. "And I'll tell you that it's okay."

"Mm'kay," he murmured, finding it harder and harder to speak. "S'okay. If you're here… s'okay…"

"You can go to sleep, if you want."

"Nn… I like lookin' atchu…"

Erika smiled at that, but her smile quickly vanished as she watched something going on behind him. "Gary," she said, dropping her professional front and using his first name again, "listen to me. I want you to understand what's about to happen, only I need you to promise me that you'll stay calm, okay? You've already lost a lot of blood, and if you panic, there's a good chance it could send you into shock, and there's no guarantee that we could save you then. So you have to do whatever you can to stay calm. Can you do that?" His eyebrows knotted together in concern, but he nodded slowly. "Good. Okay. Listen. When you landed, the left side of your plane took the heaviest damage. The nose crumpled inwards, and it crushed everything below your left knee. That's why you're stuck." He felt himself slur out a curse word. "You're very, very badly injured, but there's a way to save you. That's what we're getting ready to do."

Somewhere inside his blurred thoughts, he felt that he knew what they were going to do, only he couldn't seem to fit the right pieces together. It was frustrating. He was smarter than this. Why couldn't he _think?_ "What're they gonna do?"

"We have to…" Erika swallowed, and he vaguely felt her hand tighten around his numbed one. "We're going to have to amputate."

His eyes snapped open with a start, the confusion in them quickly becoming horror. "_What?_"

"I'm sorry, Gary. We don't have any choice. You're going to lose your leg."

As if in response to her words, the muted whine of an oscillating saw hummed out behind them. The world reeled so sharply that Gary had to squeeze his eyes shut. Breath hissed out of his mouth between clenched teeth, struggling around the weight that suddenly lay crouched on his chest. Any minute now, he thought frantically, it was going to press inwards, and he was going to feel everything inside of him crack, break, tear apart. This could not be happening. This _could not_ be _happening_!

"Gary, please, you have to calm down or you'll—"

"Erika," he ground out around the growing lump in his throat. He pushed out the rest, the words jerking rhythmically with the rapid, frenzied rise and fall of his chest. "Talk to me."

"Huh? Wh-what do you want me to talk about?"

"Anything. Normal stuff. You. The unit. Your family." He gulped down a breath of air, feeling the weight in his chest building, pressing down on him, making him forget how to breathe. "_Anything_. Please."

"O… okay."

So Erika spoke to him about her morning, and about what some of the other soldiers had been up to. She told him that Tracey's burn wounds were healing well, and that Alice had cleaned out everyone in another game of poker, and that she'd helped Marcus play a ridiculous joke on that stuffy Lieutenant Young. Then she told him about her days as a gym leader, and about her family, and all her favorite places to visit and festivals to attend back in Celadon. She talked for minutes upon minutes without pause, just filling the air with light, meaningless chatter. And, slowly, Gary found that he could breathe again. That he could think again. He swallowed hard, staring into the muted darkness beneath his eyelids. It was just a leg, he told himself over and over. Small price to pay for surviving. Others hadn't been so fortunate. His _family_ hadn't been so fortunate. Yeah. He was still alive. And it was just a leg. Just a leg. Just a…

He felt his body shift, moving from its splayed out position against the side of the plane and onto something flat and hard. He opened his eyes, found himself staring up at a dim patch of sky peeking through a canopy of leaves. He tried to speak, but his mouth was as frozen as the rest of him, and all he could manage was a low moan.

"It's over, Lieutenant," Erika assured him as they slid him into the back of the truck. Her face peeked back into view, and he thought that she was still probably holding his hand, though he couldn't feel anything to be sure. "We'll be back in camp before you know it."

He felt the tense muscles in his body relax at her promise. He closed his eyes again, and couldn't even be embarrassed when a relieved tears slipped down his cheeks. No doubt there'd be plenty more of those later, when he was alone, and this nightmare had time to sink in. No matter. He'd take them as they came. He always did.

"How'd you manage to keep him so calm?" he heard one of the other medics ask.

"He did it himself," Erika said, and this time Gary could just barely feel her hand sweep across his forehead and brush through his sweat-drenched hair. "I just helped."

"Still can't believe it, though," the man remarked. "Surviving enemy fire, shaking off those Yumaran bastards, crash-landing in a friggin' _jungle_ for God's sake, _and _getting his leg hacked off?" He chuckled admiringly. "He must have the devil's own luck to get through all that."

"Luck?" Erika snorted, speaking softly but sharply to the unknown medic. "The lieutenant is a talented gunman, a brilliant aviator, and one of the toughest men you will ever meet. Whatever so-called miracles happened today, he made them happen himself. Luck had absolutely nothing to do with it."

The thought gave Gary strength as he breathed out a deep, shuddering sigh and at last drifted into unconsciousness.


	8. Climbing

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Pokemon Universe, otherwise I'd have spent the last week working on episode plots instead of reading an -_insert endlessly long, unbelievably crude string of cursing here- _economics textbook (I tell ya, the things I put up with for my degree). The story is mine, as are the couple of original characters.

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and violence.

* * *

**Chapter Eight: Climbing  
**Brock awoke around eight the next morning – and nearly flew out of the bed when he discovered Misty lying next to him. "What is she…?" He paused, remembering the events from the previous night. How upset the poor girl had been; they'd stayed up for a while, listening to TV while Brock did his best to cheer her up. He sighed, relieved, realizing that they were both fully clothed and not even under the covers. He laughed nervously_. 'Guess we just fell asleep watching midnight reruns.'_ To prove his point, the television blared a morning news report. _'Oh, great. _More_ fighting.'_

Misty rolled over, shivering a little and curling up tighter. Brock gently pulled a blanket up over her sleeping form. He smiled sadly. Though he knew that he would find a way to forgive Ash, and maybe already _had_ forgiven him, in some ways, he couldn't help but feel that Misty – strong, determined, warm, loving Misty – deserved someone so much better than the League Champ. _'I wonder what she sees in him?'_ He shook his head and sighed again. _'Stop that. It's not any of your business anyway.'_ He checked the clock. _'I guess I'll let her sleep for another half hour. The gods know she deserves it.'_

Quietly, so as not to wake his friend, Brock unzipped his pack and pulled out a fresh pair of clothes. Changing quickly in the bathroom, he came back out and, as an afterthought, threw on a sweater. Climbing a mountain in late November was not going to be a warm trip.

"Brock?" He glanced over his shoulder. Misty sat up in bed, rubbing at her eyes. "I hope I didn't sleep in too late."

She looked a lot better, he noted, considering all that had happened yesterday. But, if there was one thing he knew they all could do, it was bounce back from just about any situation. He guessed Misty was no exception. "Don't worry," he assured her, "it's just a little after eight. I was gonna let you sleep in for a while longer - I didn't wake you up, did I?"

She shook her head, smoothing a wrinkle in her pajama top. "Got up all on my own. Ain't you proud?"

He chuckled. "Ecstatic." He leaned over to pull out his toothbrush. When he stood, Misty was in front of him, smiling a little. "What's up?" he asked.

"Did I ever tell you how great you are?" she asked, giving him a little half-hug, then turning to get her own bathroom supplies. "Letting me switch rooms with Mariko, and tagging along with you yesterday—"

"I ought to be thanking _you_," Brock broke in. "I never would've found that medicine if you hadn't been there."

"Yeah, well, you've been real sweet, is all. It's so nice to know that some people don't change," she told him, yanking out some warmer clothes and heading to the bathroom. She pushed open the bathroom door, then stopped in the frame to look back at him. "Oh, sorry. Do you wanna get in first?" She jerked her head at the toothbrush in his hand.

"Nah, go on ahead. I don't mind waiting."

She closed the door behind her, leaving Brock alone with his thoughts.

"Some people don't change, huh?" he mused quietly to himself. "I wonder if that's a _good_ thing."

xxx

When Ash finally made his way down to the hotel lobby a few minutes after nine, all the others were standing around, ready to leave. A few glanced his way, then immediately went back to chatting or, in Mariko's case, to standing quietly by the front desk. He took a step back, about to run right back to his room and forget all about it, but took a deep breath and forced himself to speak. "Um…" He had to swallow before he could go on. "Excuse me? E…everyone?"

The bit of chatter stopped immediately. The eyes of the seven other individuals stared into his, and more than a few flashed anger, or at least disgust. He looked down, hoping he didn't look as tired as he felt - two hours of sleep wasn't much to go by. After what felt like hours, Ash began what he'd rehearsed the night before, though he could already feel it getting tangled around on his nervous tongue, turning into a stuttered apology instead of a speech. "I - I know that, ever since Misty and I met up on Mount Silver, that I've been sort've… er, I mean, I've been a _real_ jerk. To all of you. I've said and done a lot of stuff I know I shouldn't have, and there's no excuse. And, as much as I'd like to, I can't take any of it back, from little comments to... other things." He met Gary's eyes when he said this. The ex-pilot stared right back, unblinking. Ash glanced down at the rolled up document in his hand. "I totally understand if you never want to see me again. I mean, I guess I'd feel the same way if I were in your shoes. So, um..."

He tossed Gary the piece of paper. Slowly Gary unrolled it, looking it up and down, then fixed Ash with a raised eyebrow. "It's a map," Ash explained. "Up to the Elite's hideout. I know it's not that great - I'm a pretty crappy artist - but you ought to be able to get there okay. There's a signed note on the back, telling them to listen to everything you say. And... well... if you want to go on without me, now's your chance. You'll never have to deal with me again. I don't expect any of you to forgive me..." _'But maybe my mom will, at least,'_ he added silently. Ash stared hard at the tiled floor, waiting for the sounds of the group moving out. Something hit his knee, then fell to the ground, partially unrolled. It was the map he'd given them.

"You're right," Gary told him. "You _have_ been a jerk, and an asshole, and a childish brat."

The League Champ looked up. He was met with a penetrating stare, the kind that seemed to look straight into him and see all the little imperfections and weaknesses and stupidities. So much like Mariko's stare, he thought weakly, feeling a little nauseous under that glare. "I…"

Gary's gaze softened, just slightly. "But hell, everyone deserves a second chance. Just make sure you don't screw it up."

A murmur of agreement passed through the group. At the sound of the other voices, Ash found that he could look around again, eyes trailing from one face to another. He swept nervously across the frowns on Tracey's and Jessie's faces, lingered briefly on James' skeptical gaze, and finally landed on the two in the corner. Brock's crooked half-smile was exactly what he'd expected, but the knit in Misty's eyebrows took him by surprise. He'd expected her to look annoyed with him, or exasperated, or maybe even a little pleased. Instead, she just looked confused, like someone had given her a riddle and she was hard at work trying to figure it out. Ash made a mental note to speak with her privately later. They were long due for a _pleasant_ conversation for once.

"Well, then," Mariko said, breaking the silence, "I suppose we should be off."

Ash's eyes jerked to the Yumaran woman. He blinked when she met his eyes and offered him the tiniest of nods. She was satisfied, then, though from the hardness in her eyes he got the distinct feeling that he still hadn't earned her respect. Well, that was fine, he thought a little dazedly. He wouldn't have wanted it just yet. There were still things he needed to do.

He waited a moment, expecting someone else to say something, but when Gary picked up his bag and headed to the door everyone else followed his lead and did the same. Ash stood stock still for a long moment, then shook his head to clear his confusion and snatched up his own backpack. He trotted to catch up to Tracey, Jessie and James. "H-hold up. That's _it_? After all that, you're letting me off this easily?"

"Don't think it was my idea," Jessie grumbled. "If it was up to me you'd have been forced on your knees to beg for forgiveness."

"Consider yourself lucky Gary isn't the type of person to hold a grudge," James added. "I can't say I would have been so nice if I had been treated like that."

Ash looked to Tracey. Being Gary's closest friend, his opinion, somehow, mattered more than everyone else's combined. The watcher looked away, up at the topmost peak of Silver, shrouded in fog. "What you did was absolutely horrible, and I don't think any of us are ever going to look at you the same way - including Misty, who used to think the world of you, by the way." Ash frowned at that, but Tracey continued before he could comment. "And, just so you know, if you ever do or say anything like that again to _anyone_, during this trip or for the rest of your life, I will personally see that you're tossed off Mount Silver." He finally looked at Ash. Tracey's eyes were icy, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "_After_ I let Jessie kick the piss out of you."

xxx

By the time they finished a late lunch in a local diner, it was nearly one in the afternoon. Meowth decided to stay with his long lost friends until they reached the base of the mountain, but after that, "dey was on deir own."

Though the tall, nasty peak seemed to be just a few miles away, in reality it took them a good four hours to reach the bottom. Brock checked his watch - nearly five, surprisingly - and made the obvious observation that climbing something as treacherous as a mountain would have to wait until morning.

"Well, dis is where I make my grand exit," Meowth announced, rubbing along his friends' legs in a final farewell. "Not dat I ain't enjoyin' dis reunion as much as anyone, but I got no interest in turnin' myself inta a catsicle. Don't forget ta stop by on your way back down. By den, of course, I'll prob'ly be too fat from all da free food to stalk you down a street, but maybe some nice citizen can wheel me out on a skateboard."

Jessie chuckled, scratching his head. "Take care of yourself, all right? And try not to gorge too much."

"I make no promise I can't keep," he replied lazily, flicking his tail, obviously reluctant to leave. "Hey James, walk me to da edge of camp, will ya?"

James didn't know why the feline wanted him to accompany him such a short distance, but since this could be one of the last times they saw each other, he decided to oblige. Once they were out of hearing distance, Meowth began talking. "So, da dynamic duo is reunited, huh? How was dat? Had ta be as big of a shock as dat semi truck dat slammed inta your life when we tought she was a goner, dough I imagine _dis_ shock is a whole lot nicer for ya's."

James shifted nervously. "It's good to have her back."

Meowth snorted a laugh. "Dat's da understatement of da century. Would you just _say_ it already? Da Jim _I_ knew wasn't never so shy."

"Okay, fine," he admitted with only a moment's hesitation. "It's more than just 'good.' It's like…"

"Like all da itty bitty pieces is finally startin' ta glue demselves back tagedda again?" Meowth finished. James said nothing, but the tiniest inclination of his head showed that he agreed. "It's feelin' dat way f'me, too." The cat's grin fell in a hurry. "But listen, you gotta make sure it stays dat way, okay? Jess told me she's got some guys after her - kill 'em for me, will ya? I don't wanna have ta have _anuddah_ funeral for her, not when I'm just learnin' dat da foist one wasn't for real."

"You don't need to tell _me_ that," James reminded him, and for a moment they shared a sharp, painful burst of understanding as the memory from that final, rainy night in the Rocket Camp played across their careworn eyes.

"No… but I _do_ want ya t'know dat it ain't just you who wants dat woman ta live," Meowth said quietly. "When bot' youse guys left so close tagedda, I gotta say it wasn't so easy on me. I may not be human, but I got feelin's too, all right? So don't get killed, and help Jessie ta do da same." He laughed, butting his head into James' leg. "And for da love-a God, Jim, _smile_! Yer two best friends is alive, an' you got a whole mess-a new companions ta go wit' 'em! Now, granted, dey's twoipy companions..."

James gave him a friendly shove and laughed, much to Meowth's pleasure. "Get back to your town full of Persian-worshippers, before I tell those 'twerps' all the names you used to call them."

"Oh, please, anyting but dat," Meowth drawled sarcastically. "I'll see ya around, Jim. Have a nice climb, an' don't get blown off by a stray wind – give da assassins a fightin' chance at ya first. Oh yeah, an' give da Ketchum kid a kick in da ass – it's sometin' we've been puttin' off doin' for too long."

xxx

"What was that all about?" Jessie asked once James returned to camp. She handed him a small bowl of hot soup and a roll.

"The typical things you say at a good-bye. He told me to stay safe, I threatened to tell the others all the things he used to call them, he asked me to give Ash a kick in the ass. The usual, of course."

Jessie chuckled. "Sounds so dull."

James took an experimental sip of the soup, looking around the partially-darkened tent. Instead of a group meal - some people were still a little tense around Ash - they had all retreated to their tents for the rest of the evening. "I think he took our leaving a lot harder than you would have expected. I never really thought about it, but we were the only real friends he had."

"Mm-hm," Jessie agreed. "But he seems to be doing pretty well now. At least he found a place where people actually _like_ the fact that you can't get him to shut up."

James smiled, leaning against the tent wall. He immediately regretted that decision, sucking in air as his tender, burned shoulder hit the canvas. Jessie's head snapped up. "You okay?"

"Oh, wonderful," he said grimly, easing away from the tent. "When Midnight aims to kill, she means business."

"I noticed," came the dry reply. Jessie rummaged in her bag until she pulled out a small tube that resembled suntan lotion. "I got this yesterday when I went into that shop to get a few supplies." She tossed it to him. "You really oughta take better care of yourself. If you don't put anything on it then it could get infected."

"When did you become the leading expert on this?" he asked in a joking manner, opening the cap.

"When a building falls on you, you learn a few things about burns. That's the same stuff I used - and look at me. Scar free! Er," she rubbed ruefully at the wrinkled, pink skin along her cheek, "mostly, anyway. It's the best."

James pulled off his shirt, slowly unwinding the old bandage from his shoulder. "Thanks. How much did it cost? I'll have to pay you back—"

"I used _your_ money," Jessie reminded him. She smiled a little guiltily. "I hope you aren't too mad about that."

"Why should I be? It's not as if I was planning to invest it or anything," he told her, squirting out a glob of the cream and slapping it on the burn. He winced. "It stings."

"Of course it stings. If there's one thing I've learned it's that anything good for you will either hurt or taste terrible." Jessie pulled a small mushroom shoot out of her soup, making a face. The food was delicious, but she absolutely hated that plant. "How else do you explain these?"

James chuckled. Awkwardly, he tried to manage the medicine, but it was obvious to his old partner that he had no idea what he was doing. She sighed, setting down her empty bowl. "This is too sad to watch. Here, let me do it." Jessie pulled his hand away and started to smooth the cool cream into his red, swollen shoulder. "James Morgan, you are absolutely hopeless, did you know that? I'd have thought that in a business like this, if you learned _anything_ it would've been how to clean up an injury. I'd have expected Mariko to take better care of you."

"I'm alive, aren't I?" he countered. "And she's worse than I am. If Gary hadn't patched up her own burn she wouldn't have even wrapped it up."

"How do you assassins manage to keep yourselves in one piece?" Jessie asked, a hint of concern, but also humor in her voice.

"They heal on their own in a few weeks. I've only gotten a couple others, and I've never known of one to get infected."

"Ah, so you're all extremely lucky," she concluded. She rubbed the salve off her hands onto a towel. "Finished." She leaned over James, grabbing a fresh roll of bandages and setting to work. "Speaking of luck, you're lucky I'm here. You would have had to deal with that for a good two or three weeks without any pain relievers without me around. James, you are in _serious_ need of a woman."

He chuckled. "What does that make you, then?"

"Oh, you know what I mean," Jessie said, pinning the bandage into place. "You may be able to protect yourself, and you've finally picked up some survival skills over the past few years, and sure, you're smart enough – or at least you are when you remember to _think_," she added teasingly, "but it's the little things. The way you treat yourself, for one, and I see the way you zone out all the time, like your mind's wandering around in a field, picking daisies or something." She laughed, grabbing his shirt to give back to him. "I'm tempted to marry you myself just so I can keep you out of trouble."

James rolled his shoulder experimentally, smiling back at her. "Sounds like fun."

There was a slight moment of silence as the two looked at the other for a moment, letting the last few comments sink in. Quickly Jessie shoved the shirt back into James' hands. "Here."

"Thanks," he said just as quickly. _'What the hell possessed me to say that?'_ he thought.

_'What the hell did _that_ mean?'_ Jessie wondered, staring at her hands. _'Does he...? No, that can't be it...can it?'_

"So..." they said in unison.

Misty pulled back the flap of their tent. "Dish duty, coming through. You both fin…ished…?" She took in the interesting scene: James was shirtless, and both seemed to have a slight glow - a blush, maybe? - on their cheeks. Misty giggled, cocking an eyebrow at the other woman. "And you _seriously_ wonder why people think there's something going on between you two?"

Jessie handed her their bowls, laughing it off but unable to wipe the blush away. "Very funny, Misty."

The younger woman took the dishware. She winked at James. "Hey, I'm impressed. You've been working out, huh?" He turned a slightly darker crimson. "Well, I'd better leave you love-birds alone. Bye-bye." She smothered another giggle, making her departure.

"What was that all about?" Jessie asked.

"I was hoping you could tell me," James replied.

"Maybe she wants you," Jessie suggested. He laughed; it was a sound she was getting more and more used to everyday. She checked her watch. "Damn, it's already nine. Guess the time really does fly when you're having fun." She chuckled. "You should throw yourself in front of girls more often."

"You're welcome to do this everyday, if you enjoy it," he offered.

Jessie grinned. "I get to be the bounty hunter's nurse, huh?" She shrugged. "Might as well pay you back for saving my life - several times, now. Oh, I meant to ask, now that you know where the money comes from, do you still want me to pay you?"

"How about this: I look out for you, and you keep using your magical healing powers on me," he said with a smile.

"Deal."

The evening was fast becoming night, and they both knew that they had a long day ahead of them, so they said "good night" before long and crawled into their sleeping bags. Before long Jessie's breathing slowed and evened out, but James sat staring at the ceiling of the tent for several long hours after he knew she had fallen asleep, his forehead crinkled in thought and a small half-frown on his face.

_Something_ was happening, he thought; or maybe it'd be fairer to say something had _been_ happening, and it was only just now getting to the point where he was really noticing it. Ever since he'd seen Jessie's photo in Jessebelle's hands, it had been like he'd been trying to reconcile between two different halves of himself. It was a strange feeling, a disconcerting feeling, but he'd managed to get used to it. Something was different now though, he thought. Almost like… almost like, for the first time, maybe the half of him that'd been in hiding for the last five years was the stronger half. The bigger half. It made him nervous, and he wasn't used to being nervous. He couldn't decide at all if he liked it.

'_But,'_ that bigger half of him thought, _'I think that maybe… I could _grow_ to like it, with time… and, with her…'_

xxx

It hadn't been easy to stay awake, but Ash had managed it, listening closely as Mariko slid out of her sleeping bag to make her usual rounds in the camp site. Even though they were in safer territory now, she didn't seem able to relax without giving the area a once-around a couple times a night. She'd be gone for about twenty minutes, he guessed. He hoped that would be enough time to do what he needed to do.

He rolled over so his stomach was on the ground, his hands cupped around his pillow, using it to prop up his chin. "Psst," he hissed across the tent. "Hey, Misty. Misty. Misty. _Misty_."

"Mmmph?"

"You awake?"

She groaned irritably. "Well I am _now_."

"I wanted to talk to you. We haven't really had a chance to talk recently. Is that okay?"

"Can it wait 'till morning?"

He was quiet for a moment, then admitted quietly, "I'd rather keep it private."

She shuffled around in her sleeping bag, and a minute later there was a flashlight set down between them, lighting up the little tent and allowing their eyes to meet. Ash couldn't decide if Misty looked annoyed or nervous. Maybe she just looked tired. "Okay. What's up?"

Now that she was looking at him, ready to listen to him, he realized he had no idea what to say. Everything he'd rehearsed while waiting for Mariko to leave had flown out of his head. He glanced down. "Um… I just wanted to say sorry, is all."

"Not accepted. Good night."

"Misty!" he hissed, jerking his eyes back up to meet hers.

She flashed him a crooked smile. "Kidding. It's fine. And anyway, _Gary _was the one who needed the apology. You gave it to him, and he was a good enough guy to take it. As far as I'm concerned, that makes us okay, too."

"Yeah, except… except it really isn't, you know?" He sighed, rubbing at the back of his head. Dammit, when would he learn how to speak like a normal human being? "'Cause I've been a jerk to you, you know? I mean, like, a Grade-A, Pokemon Stadium-sized _jerk_, right? And you had about five hundred chances to turn around and walk off, but you didn't, and _because _you didn't, I'm where I am today, and I'm really grateful for that. I mean, I don't really know _why_ you didn't just turn around and walk off, it's kind of stupid to stick around when someone's acting like that – er, not that you're _stupid_, just that it looks that way – I mean, _you_ don't look that way, but… um…"

Ash felt his face turning a deep red, and he was about to throw his head under the covers and pretend none of this had happened, but Misty's giggles stopped him. "Listen, if you're going to apologize for that then that's fine, it's nice of you to want to, but don't you know that I've forgiven you for all of that already? C'mon, Ash, we're friends. Friends forgive each other when they act like idiots. Besides," she added with an embarrassed smile, "it's not like I haven't been a Grade-A jerk to _you_ sometimes, too."

"Maybe, but—"

"_And_," she added, even more uncomfortably, "you helped me out at a really tough time. If you hadn't found me on and taken me in that night, I really don't know _what_ would've happened to me. Thanks to you, I had a night to think, and I used that night to decide that I was going to be with the people I cared about instead of running away from them – no matter how afraid I was of what they might find out about me. You're the reason I decided to go to Pewter, you know. And because of that, I'm happy now. I really am. So thanks for the apology, but you don't have to beat yourself up about it. Somehow or other, I'm _always_ gonna find a way to forgive you. It's my fate." She laughed. "Or maybe my curse."

"Yeah," he murmured, "Brock said something like that to me, too."

"I bet he feels the same way, huh?" Ash nodded and Misty smiled. "It's not surprising. He's a really good guy. He cares a lot about the both of us, you know." Her smile became a little strained. "Even if he does have some pretty skewed ideas about our relationship."

"Whose relationship? Yours and Brock's?"

"Yours and mine, dummy." She leaned her head in against her pillow, murmuring, softly but not sadly, across the tent, "I had a silly memory the other day, about this one time when I was fifteen. The war had just started, and I was back at home. It was autumn. There were red and gold leaves everywhere in front of the gym, and I'd 'volunteered' to clean them up."

"You were _pissed_," Ash remarked with a tiny chuckle.

"I was pissed," she echoed. "And I decided that when that cocky League Champ came flying out of the sky on a borrowed Dragonite that I was going to take it all out on him."

"How _dare_ I get away with having fun while you were doing stupid chores, right?"

"I chewed you out for no reason at all."

"I gave as good as I got."

"We wound up fighting over which of us was in the most annoying position. Me going crazy at home…"

"…Or me going crazy with the Elite."

"And halfway through you shouted, 'Fine, then _I'll_ do your chores and _you_ can go sit in on stupid political meetings.' You tried to grab the rake from me, and I thought, 'Oh, no, he's not getting out of it that easy,' and I tried to fight back…"

"Our hands wound up practically death-locked around each other's…"

"Then this big wind kicked up, blowing all the leaves I'd tried to rake up into the air and all around us."

"They got in your hair."

"Yours, too."

"But they _matched_ yours," he told her. "And your face was all pink 'cause you'd been yelling at me. I told you that you looked like a—"

"Like a Hoppip!" they said as one.

Misty chuckled. "Oh, I was so mad. I thought I was going to raise that rake over my head and just smack you halfway across the yard."

"It was s'posed to be a compliment, though. I was _trying_ to say that you looked cute."

"And, as usual, you made a huge mess of it."

"I said I was sorry."

"You did," she agreed. "And you told me what you'd _meant_ to say."

"You told me I was an idiot…"

"…And then I kissed you."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Then you kissed me."

Misty snorted out a small laugh. "It was so awkward."

"Really messy."

"I didn't have a clue what I was doing."

"You think I _did_?"

"But you know," she admitted, "in that moment, in spite of everything… I was really happy."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Me, too."

"I decided that it was true love, right then and there. I decided that, no matter what happened – no matter how old I got, how much we fought, how far away we were, or even how much I changed – that'd be something I'd always have. And you know, at fifteen, it really felt like I could believe in things like 'forever.'"

He didn't know what to say to that, so he didn't say anything right away. After a moment, he scratched his head and whispered, so quiet he thought that maybe she wouldn't hear him – and almost _hoped_ that she wouldn't, "There's nothing really between us anymore, huh?"

"We're friends," she replied a little nervously. "That's something."

"Yeah…"

"Does that…" She hesitated. "I-I mean, are you _okay_ with that?"

He flashed a crooked smile. "Would it make any difference if I wasn't?"

"I guess not, but it still matters. You're still my friend. I don't want to hurt you."

Ash thought about it for a minute. Then, with a more certain smile, he said, "Yeah. If you're okay with it, then I am, too."

She returned the smile. "I'm glad. And hey, um, I know… I know that you're not real happy with the way things are, or… or with how _you_ are, right now, but… someday you will be, okay? I'm sure of it."

"I know," he said, and realized that he meant it. "Thanks."

"And once you _do_ get to liking yourself again, well, I know it's a stupid thing to say, but after all that happens, I want you to go out and find someone really great. I won't let you settle for anyone but the very best."

"You, too," he said, "I mean, like, he's gotta be _ten_ times cooler than me, you know?"

"So any bum off the street will do?"

He dragged his pillow out from beneath his head and smacked her in the face with it. "That's it! I was gonna be nice, but not any more! From now on, I'm telling every boyfriend of yours that _I_ was your first kiss. It'll be the first thing I say to them. 'Hey,'" he said, as if talking to someone sitting next to him, "'you're Misty's new honey-bunny, huh? Well, she's kissed the League Champ, you know, so it's not like you can compete with _that_. I mean, what do _you_ do for a living?'"

Misty thwacked him with her own pillow. "He'll be a _movie star_, Ash Ketchum, and he'll make the League Champ look like a _birthday clown_, so there!"

The two beat at each other mercilessly with their pillows, shouting insults and threats of future torture even as they all but promised the other one that they would find unrivaled happiness. They didn't even notice the cloaked figure standing outside of their tent, her fingers pressed to her nose to ward off a headache – and her hand pressed to her mouth to ward off her laughter.

"For heaven's sake," Mariko said with a shake of her head, turning and disappearing into the forest once again. "It looks as if I shall be wandering this campsite for the rest of _night_, at this rate…"

xxx

The next morning – and with only a few hours of sleep under his belt – Ash viewed the enormous peak of Mount Silver. Now in full daylight, it didn't look as foreboding as it had the past evening, but it certainly seemed a lot taller. "Luckily," he told the others, "we won't be climbing the whole thing, though it still takes a while since we can't just go _straight_ up." He shouldered his pack. "There's a trail a little to the right of where we are. It's slow going, but if we keep a fast pace we should be able to get there in," he opened his mouth to say one, then glanced at Gary and hurriedly changed his mind, "a couple days."

"Didn't we ignore the path when we came down the first time?" Misty asked.

"Well yeah, but…" Ash hesitated, then came up with a weak lie, "with this many people I'd rather just stick to the trail. It's a rough hike if you ignore the roads – a lot steeper, you know? I don't want anyone to get left behind."

"That is foolishness," Mariko broke in, stepping forward and moving towards the rocky slope of the mountain. "If you are all so determined to reach these Elite as soon as possible, then this is clearly the best course of action." She adjusted her pack and took another few steps forward, picking her way lithely over the ground.

Ash rubbed the back of his head, shooting another nervous glance at Gary's missing leg. Didn't she understand that he was actually trying to cut Gary some slack for once? "I don't think—"

"We've noticed," she said sharply. "It's perfectly safe, if that's what you are all worried about." She fixed Ash with her intense stare. "You will agree, won't you, that it is the quickest way up?"

"Of course," he admitted. "But what about, er…?"

"Then there should be no argument. Or does anyone else have an objection?"

Unintentionally, everyone's snaked over to Gary, but he just tightened his jaw and nodded once. The others quickly voiced their own approval, knowing there was no chance of arguing at this point. Ash sighed in resignation, then started up the mountain. Misty and Brock followed shortly. Tracey bit his lip, knowing Gary would say nothing no matter how hard he had to struggle. He was torn for a moment between embarrassing his friend or doing what he felt was right, when Gary stepped in front of him. He gripped his crutch in a death lock, flexed his leg beneath him, and began the long climb, picking his way with an awkwardness that was almost graceful around the larger clumps of gravelly rock and brush. Tracey sighed, realizing it would have been hopeless to try and stop his stubborn companion anyway, and followed suit.

"I shall take the rear," Mariko told Jessie and James. "You had better get going, or we'll fall behind."

Jessie's face had a distinct chalky color to it. She noticed that James didn't look much better. "I take it you haven't conquered your fear of heights yet," she assumed.

"I gave up trying years ago," he murmured. He wiped the sweat off his palms, taking a breath.

"No time like the present, I guess," she sighed. "After you."

"Ladies first," he insisted.

Mariko broke in. "If you are truly this afraid, then I fear all hope is lost for you, Jacob. I'm really quite disappointed, both in you and your companion."

Jessie took a slow, even breath. "Okay. I can do this." She clenched her fists and stepped forward, knowing that the hard part wouldn't come until much later. James came right after, then Mariko. The female bounty hunter had a hard time keeping a straight face, as she heard both of the former Rockets whispering to themselves several times, especially once they got to higher elevations: "Just don't look down."

The group continued without pause until late afternoon, when they reached an open patch of ground that leveled out enough that they felt they could all sit down to eat a quick lunch. Brock, who was as exhausted as the rest, threw together some rice balls and called it a meal.

Gary leaned back against a scraggly tree, breathing deep and massaging his sore calf. Tracey chewed on his lip, watching from a distance. He tried to remember how many times he had seen his friend nearly fall before catching his balance again, gripping that crutch so hard his knuckles had turned white, and struggling forward again, determined to keep his pace just as fast as Tracey's. The artist had of course slowed down for him, as had everyone outside of Mariko, though any time they tried to go _too _slow Gary would actually move ahead of them, teasing them all for being so tired already. He was trying so hard, Tracey thought with a sigh, and all for something they could have avoided. _'I should have said something to Mariko about this. Only…'_

"Something wrong?"

Tracey's head came up fast. Misty took a seat on one side of him, Brock on the other. "Why do you say that?"

"You always bite your lip when something's bothering you," Misty explained. "A nervous habit, I guess."

"Nice observation," he complimented.

She smiled. "I learned from the master." Tracey smiled bashfully. "So, what's the problem?" She followed his gaze towards the veteran pilot on the edge of their camp. "Gary?"

He nodded. "I know he'd kill me if he knew I was worried, but this is a lot harder for him than it is for us. I wish he didn't feel like he had something to prove."

"I know what you mean," Misty said with a sigh. "There's nothing wrong with asking for help, after all."

Brock frowned thoughtfully. "Maybe he feels like he's holding us back if he says something."

"But Gary knows us!" she protested. "We wouldn't care – we'd understand completely."

He shrugged. "It was just a thought."

"You're right, though," Tracey agreed. He frowned. "It's really all Mariko's fault. She _knew_ this would be hard on him, but she went ahead and did it anyway."

"Well, when we get to the top, you should talk to her," Misty suggested.

Tracey finished off his small meal, watching the slim back of their assassin companion. "Maybe I will."

Xxx

Despite being more difficult, Mariko's route really was a good deal faster. They crawled back onto the path that led across the mountain range in a tired heap right around five that evening. Mariko dusted off her clothing and walked ahead as if she was just as well-rested as she'd been that morning. "We made wonderful time. I'm quite proud of the rest of you." She checked the sun's location. "I suspect we could get in a few more miles, don't you agree?"

One loud, long groan of protest was enough for the assassin to understand they had no intention of going any further that day. "Very well," she said with the tiniest twitch of her lips. "I shall be up ahead, scouting the land, if you need anything of me. If someone would fetch me when dinner is ready…?"

Misty waved a tired hand at her. "Yeah, fine. Have fun."

She set off at a stride much too quick and light for someone who had just climbed a mountain, disappearing around the corner in a few moments.

"And I thought _I_ was in good shape," Gary drawled, all but collapsing against a fir tree as he said it.

"You think it's a Yumaran thing?" Brock wondered. "I know this is stereotypical of me, but in the World Games they always beat out just about everyone else in long-distance events."

"I'm guessing it's more of a Mariko thing," Jessie grumbled, taking a seat next to the designated cook.

James sat on the other side of Jessie. "I wouldn't expect less from her," he muttered, but he was smiling when he said. He leaned back, watching a Pidgey lazily glide across the sky. "Personally, I'm just relieved to be on solid, even ground again."

"That makes two of us," Jessie agreed, smiling crookedly. "On the way down, let's take the stairs."

"Is everyone okay?" Ash asked, easing himself to the ground. He tried to look at everyone, not just at a plainly exhausted Gary. "Twisted ankles, scrapes, anything at all?"

"Does having every muscle feel like it's about to fall off count?" Misty asked.

Ash bit back a smile. "Wait until morning – then you'll be wishing they _would_ fall off."

"I hear that," Gary said with a dry chuckle. "Mariko doesn't seem to mind throwing us in to everything, does she? I'm welcoming a night's rest, that's for sure."

Tracey hesitated, then slowly stood and disappeared around the bend, following Mariko.

"Where's he going?" Ash wondered idly, though he was too tired to really care either way.

Brock pulled out the cooking supplies, with some reluctant help from Jessie and James. "Just for a stroll, I guess."

Gary frowned at his retreating friend, and couldn't help but heave an annoyed sigh. Just like it was impossible to get Gary to admit his limits, it was impossible to get Tracey to stop sticking up for his friends. He closed his eyes against the dim amount of sunlight still trickling over the edges of Mount Silver. Oh well. At least he knew it wasn't just for him – back in the boonies Tracey had done that sort of thing for any of his closer companions. Still...

"Gary?"

He cracked open one eye halfway. Jessie was in front of him, waving a thermos of hot tea in his face. "You gonna go straight to sleep without eating?"

He grabbed the cup, realizing how cold it had gotten on their way up. "Nah, I was just spacing out. Thanks."

"Sure." In a quieter tone, she asked, "Um… You okay?"

"Oh, son of a… not _you_, too," he groaned, slapping his forehead. "Before you know it the whole camp'll be carrying me to the Elite in a carriage on a bed of pillows." He scratched his chin. "Come to think of it, that doesn't sound like a bad idea." He grabbed Jessie's hand, staring up pleadingly into her eyes. "Fetch the royal coach, I'm feeling faint!"

She laughed, leaning back on her heels. "I don't even know why I asked." She untangled her hand from his, standing once more. "Well hey, I got roped into helping with dinner, so I gotta go, but I'll call you when the food's ready, okay?"

"You're _leaving_ me?" he cried, reaching out dramatically with one hand. "But you can't _leave_ me! I'm a scared and helpless invalid!"

xxx

Tracey found the Yumaran native sitting on a rock, looking out over the vast scenery. From this high up, the small town of Silver glowed eerily, shrouded in fog and cast in shadow. Viridian Forest was just a green-black backdrop, reaching to where the sky touched the ground. The artist would have found it to be incredibly picturesque if he hadn't had so much on his mind.

"I believe you wished to speak with me," Mariko said without turning around.

Tracey didn't bother trying to figure out how she knew he was there. _He_ would have been able to sense someone walking up behind him too, after all. "Yeah, I did. Why did you get it in your head to scale this mountain, knowing full well Gary would have a hell of a time doing it?" He leaned his back against the bark of a pine tree. "Any particular reason? Or maybe you bounty hunters are just a bunch of heartless killers, and _like_ seeing people struggle."

"You are Gary's closest friend, correct?" she asked, not bothering to face him.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Then you of all people should understand what I was doing." Her voice never rose or fell, but stayed in that oddly calm stage, completely void of emotion. Tracey hated people like that; it was always so hard for even him to figure them out.

"What do you mean?"

"Forgive me, I haven't been traveling with you for very long." She finally faced him, hitting him with her penetrating glare. "But isn't it true that your friend despises being treated differently?"

Tracey caught the look and held it, not once losing contact. Mariko once more had a hard time keeping her face even; he was one of the few who didn't look away when she did that. "You're right about that. But I still don't get—"

"Then why would you try to make him _feel_ different? Give him what he wants."

Tracey scowled. "Look, as much as he hates to admit it, he _does_ need help sometimes, and there _are_ some things he just can't do anymore. Frankly, I'd rather see him embarrassed than see him slide off a cliff."

Mariko sighed, rubbing her temples. "For one of the leading technological and economic countries of the world, you Kantans certainly are a close-minded bunch." She turned all the way around, so her back was against the open air of the mountain. "Do you know how we react in Yumar to people with what you consider 'disabilities'?"

"Force them to work in sweatshops?" Tracey said sarcastically.

There was the slightest hint of amusement in her voice. "If I wasn't such a heartless killer I might have found that funny." Tracey winced, remembering his comment from earlier. "We treat them exactly as you would treat anyone else. Of course, there are exceptions, such as the blind needing to read brail and not being able to drive. It would be foolish to expect those sorts of things. But everyone grows up with the belief that everyone else has the same basic opportunities, the same basic chances at happiness…" She must have seen him opening his mouth because she cut him off with, "And yes, you _do_ assume that your friend's happiness is somehow reduced by his condition. Do not think I have not seen the way everyone watches him, or asks him if he is 'okay' or 'tired.' I should think _that_ sort of behavior – that kind of singling out – would be far more damaging to one's happiness than an injury. Perhaps if you would leave people to themselves, things would go much smoother. You might find that your friend is quite aware of his limits – and, as it turns out, climbing a mountain did not happen to be one of them."

Tracey was shocked that she had known so much about them when she'd only been in the group for a few days. He was about to ask if she had been stalking them, when it hit him – Mariko just happened to be very, _very_ observant. He smiled without meaning to. _'Like me.'_

"What do you find so amusing?" she asked.

He shook his head in amazement. "You seem to know everything. Why don't you tell me?"

"I'm perceptive, not a mind reader," she countered. "And neither are you, so stop acting as if you know what everyone is thinking."

"Mariko, I will _never_ know what you're thinking, not if I live to be a hundred," he assured her with a small smile. "You have a point, though. About what you said earlier, I mean. With that sort of attitude, I'm surprised Yumar isn't a more dominant political power."

"We're a private type of people; like to keep to ourselves."

"I've noticed."

Misty's head popped out around the corner of a cluster of rocks. "Hey, sorry to bug you guys, but dinner's ready. Just come back when you're done. Uh, Trace? Don't chew her out too much, okay? And Mariko? Don't shoot him. I'd like to keep both of you alive through this trip." And she was gone.

"Odd girl," Mariko remarked.

"Says the pot to the kettle," Tracey said jokingly. He rubbed the back of his head. "Er… sorry about my calling you a heartless killer earlier. I guess we all say things we don't mean."

"Perhaps you should keep that in mind, the next time you talk to Ash."

"Ouch," he said with a little wince, turning to leave. He stopped near the edge of the rocks, chancing a glance back at the assassin. "Um, Mariko? If you ever see me getting overprotective with Gary again, could you just sneak up behind me and smack me in the back of the head or something? I don't really do it on purpose, so I think that'd help me realize when I need to back off."

"So I am to act as your mother, now?"

He shrugged. "I never knew my mom, so I don't know _how_ she would've acted. Maybe she'd have been a little like you, though."

Her eyes curled up into a smile. "Then perhaps it is best that she remain unknown."

Tracey trotted off, shaking his head and chuckling. Mariko was easily one of the strangest people he'd ever met, but, in a way, more like him than anyone else he knew.

* * *

**8/28/08**

Hey, check it out! Due to popular demand, the author's note has once again been replaced by a **bonus story**! (_everybody cheers_) James got into my head this time, so don't forget to check out "Half," located just after Mariko's profile! Enjoy!

**Mariko Nazari**

**The Basics  
**-She is thirty-two years old, making her the oldest of the _2k5_ group by about seven years.  
-Mariko is small (about 5'3") but she carries herself in such a way that people tend to think she's a lot taller than she really is. She has a lithe, sinewy body made of almost nothing but tight muscle. She has caramel-colored skin, amber eyes, and a head of silky black hair that falls to just above her shoulders, though she always wears it pulled back into a ponytail or bun. She bears her share of assassin-related injuries, but none that you can visibly see. Like most of the bounty hunting community, she dresses in dark, tight clothing, made of durable materials that are easy to move around in – and easy to repair when damaged. Unlike James, who usually wears blacks and dark greens, Mariko seems to prefer dark blues. (It's just a personal preference)

**Childhood  
**-Mariko doesn't talk in great detail about her past, though she did agree to tell James her story in exchange for his when they first met. The short version is that her nation was rocked by a civil war when she was a child, and though Kanto declared itself "neutral" on the issue they quietly sent in some freelance men and weapons to aid one side in their effort (incidentally, the side they supported didn't win). Her home town was on the border of the attacks, and during a raid her parents were caught in the gunfire and killed.  
-Some of the Kanto troops found her and sent her to a government building so they could find her relatives, but the only one that turned up was a Kantan man named Jacob Carol: a relative so distant that they didn't even resemble each other. She was sent to live with him at the age of fifteen. The man turned out to be an assassin, but she was so determined to remain with family that the bitter young girl became his apprentice and then partner, learning the ways of the bounty hunter. Mariko traveled with Jacob Carol for about eight years, then went her own way as a solo assassin. She learned of his death some three years later.  
-Just a year and a half later, Mariko was assigned a mission to track down a deserter by the name of James Morgan…

**Wartime History  
**-…Who, as we know, she was unable to kill. She dragged him with her halfway across Kanto so that she could meet with a retired assassin friend, who suggested that Mariko give James the name "Jacob Carol," as he looked remarkably like her deceased relative. After their meeting, Mariko at last decided that she'd train her new charge to be an assassin.  
- I'll save most of her stories for James' profile, but one I do want to bring up: Mariko and James caught a lot of grief from other members of the assassin community (such as Karl and his gang) who were convinced that Mariko had gotten bored and brought in James solely because she wanted a "pretty boy" to fool around with. The remarks irritated both of them, but they did their best to ignore them, but some of their friends were a little less forgiving. Let's just say that a bounty hunter named Aria – who let me assure you is _awesome_ even though you'll never meet her in this fanfic – once punched Karl's face into a windowsill for a particularly lewd remark. _(laughs)_

**Relationships  
**-Mariko and James decided at the beginning of their time together that a relationship of complete honesty was the best way for them to get along with one another, and they held to that for the most part. As such, they developed a close but never really _warm_ relationship. They really are good friends, but I don't think they really think of another in those terms. Their relationship is more complicated than that: it's a bond of complete trust, forged in blood and gunfire, but Mariko was too secretive and James was too emotionally distant for them to ever entirely understand one another. This leads to a lot of things remaining unsaid between the two of them, despite their promise of total honesty. (For example, as you'll see in the **bonus story**, James thought that Mariko wanted him to leave after he paid back his life-debt to her. This wasn't the case at all, but she was unwilling to tell _him_ that, so the two wound up going their separate ways.)  
…And no, for the curious: Despite spending nearly four years together, sometimes traveling for weeks without any other human company, James and Mariko have never been physically intimate with one another. Appallingly platonic, those two _(laughs_).

**General Ramblings  
**Heh… I like Mariko. I didn't have a ton of time to flesh out her character in _2k5_, but I later wrote a half-finished prequel story about her and James entitled _Just Another Delinquent_ (don't bother trying to search for it; you won't find it anywhere but on my hard drive), and I really had a fun time with her personality. She grew up surrounded by assassins who were used to harsh life and harsher speech, so she never really learned how to be gentle with people. As such she's very blunt (_very_ blunt!), and she won't take nonsense from anyone. As Tracey notes in this chapter, she's also quite observant, making her the best tracker in the bounty hunting community. This combination of qualities helped her to become a sort of "mentor figure" in _2k5_ from time to time.

Even so, Mariko isn't without problems – she's just so secretive that she never lets anyone _know_ about them. I'm toying with writing a bonus story later from her point of view, just so people can get a better look inside her head… but then there's this corner of my mind where Mariko is glaring at me and saying, "Don't you dare," and it's very hard to ignore the demands of an armed assassin. I think she _enjoys_ being a bit of an enigma, to be honest.

Since the last bonus story got some good reactions from reviewers (thanks pikagurl and Revengent!), it inspired me to write another one. This one's a little more experimental than the last – instead of just relaying a single situation, it spans several years, picking out a few key moments to focus on. It's also almost entirely an inner monologue. Still, I think it's pretty good, and it sheds a lot of light on James' situation in _2k5 _(he's obnoxiously secretive during the actual story, in case you haven't noticed). Oh, and for those of you who see some discrepancies between what happens during a scene in this story and what happens in my finished prequel _The Rocket Camp_, don't let it bother you – this is a grittier, more realistic version, but it's still the same story.

Hey, look at that! I'm rambling again! Time to shut up, say "Thanks for reading!" and leave you with…

* * *

**Bonus Story: "Half"**

Once, in a fit of anger, Jessie had told him, "You're lacking in all things but stupidity, but don't worry – you've got _that_ in excess!"

She'd stormed off into the woods after that, leaving him and Meowth to stare blankly after her. When she'd returned, she found her sleeping bag made and a bowl of instant ramen steaming on her pillow. She didn't have to ask who had done it. She didn't say "thank you" or "I'm sorry" either, but as a sort of combination of both she relented, "Well, I suppose you've got a little too much kindness to go with all that stupidity, too."

He had thought little of it at the time. She was always taking her frustrations – even the ones he _hadn't_ caused – out on him, and it meant she said a lot of things she felt bad about later. He'd gotten used to that. And besides, she was right, or at least mostly right. It wasn't to say that he was _unintelligent_, of course. Given the right subject, he could excel quite well, and even given the wrong subject, if he had the right motivation he imagined he could manage all right. That hadn't been what she'd meant when she'd called him "stupid," though. What she always meant – what she was always talking about when she got in one of those moods – was the fundamental difference between the two of them, the decade of their lives before they had met the other, and about the only thing of his which _he_ believed that she could possibly envy.

"_Yes,"_ she was constantly shouting at him, though never in as many words, _"the first ten years of your life were miserable, but at least _you_ had a roof over your head and a full stomach, and that's more than I _ever_ had, so don't you dare think you can get away with it!"_

So it wasn't "stupid" that she meant, but naïve – innocent – a child to the understanding of how the world _really_ worked. And she was right. He'd never dealt with death, or life-threatening poverty, or even the genuine loneliness that Jessie had experienced – that feeling that there wasn't a single entity that would be sad if you died. Even at his worst, he'd had family friends and his pet dog. Even at his most miserable, there'd been ways to escape. And wasn't he _lucky _because of that? _He_ had thought so, which was why he didn't give her words much thought on that night. It was just Jessie being Jessie, and if yelling at him could help, than that was all right, he thought. He wasn't much use to her any other way, after all.

No, he didn't think about it at the time, but he would. Twice later in his life he would remember her words. Each time he would be looking down the barrel of a gun at a dead man.

The first time was in the alley, that smoke-filled alley in Saffron, as a member of the Kanto Self-Defense Force's newest unit. He thought it suddenly, and scornfully, as he stood with his head pressed to the brick wall, chest tight with a combination of sobs and heaves, the thick, metallic scent of death clinging to his nostrils, mingling with his own sickness and making him even sicker. He was looking at the mess at his feet, but looking past it as well, staring instead at the memory of the man staggering, his head snapped back with the hole in the side, weakly – he vomited again – oozing he didn't know what; remaining eye staring at him without staring at all, shocked, lips parted, as if he wanted to say "You gotta be kidding me" but didn't know how anymore. The man's body crumpling to the concrete, not slowly like in the movies but all at once, his broken skull hitting the ground with a – he vomited again – wet-hard _shwack_, and all because of a silver toy in his hand that he had thought he could use to play executioner to a stranger.

"He'd have done the same to you." Jessie behind him, awkward, a hand against his heaving back, trying to comfort but practical, too, knowing they needed to move or they'd lose the unit. "You saw what he did. He was a criminal. He got what was coming to him. He _deserved_ it, okay?"

_No!_ He would have screamed if he'd had any air to scream with. That wasn't how it worked. Because hadn't they said the same to him? To her? "Delinquent" – "Good-for-nothing" – "Shameless villain" – weren't they all words he'd heard, during those last few weeks, when the team had been caught, and all the lawyers were talking about trying them all as adults, as law-breakers who "deserved" whatever was coming to them? And maybe they had been right, but even so… even so, even he – even her – even the tiniest, most useless worm on the earth – didn't they all want to keep living just the same? Hadn't _this_ man wanted that, too?

A stupid thought. A naïve thought. A weak thought.

God, he was so weak.

"James!" Jessie snapped, harsh again, grabbing him by the shoulders and swinging his rag doll body around so she could look him in the eye and smack him across the face. "We have to _go_, and I'm not leaving without you!"

'_Why not?'_ he thought to ask, though he already knew the answer. Jessie would never leave without him because Jessie thought that she needed him. Which was ridiculous. _She_ had never been the one who had needed _him_. He wondered how much longer it would take for her to realize that, too.

Thinking that numbly, along with the replaying images that made his stomach seize up again and again – though he managed to keep from retching this time – he followed her back through the streets, thick with smoke from the flames that still licked the buildings on the city's edge. She kept her own gun up at the ready, his forgotten weapon tucked into her pants. The Protector. The Decision Maker. The One in Charge. The way it had always been, because she was on the one who knew how the world _really _worked. She was harsher for it – kindness and innocence bled into each other, or so it seemed to him anyway – but tougher for it, too. She could keep moving, even after facing death. Even after causing it. And not just move herself, but him as well, tugging along the dead weight that clung to her.

But she shouldn't have to, should she?

And he thought: _'If I could just be a_ man _for once… then, for her, I could be…'_

They were at the jeep now, and he still hadn't spoken to anyone. He climbed in – always following – beside her, listening without listening as she told Butch what had happened, as Butch relayed his own ordeals, holding his wounded shoulder like a badge of honor, wearing his pale, sunken face with a smile. Jessie tried to laugh about something. And he looked at the blood splattered on his pants – not his blood, which made it that much worse – and found himself wishing for the first time, even as another wave of nausea crashed over his head and threatened to drown him, that he could kill off that naïveté that he had in so much excess.

Not even realizing until months later – as he watched Butch's coffin disappear into the ground, as a sobbing Cassidy clung to his one arm and a weak, wounded Jessie clung to his other, and as he stood between them, grieving but calm, somehow, forcing strength into a trembling body for the sake of those trembling bodies beside him – that he already had.

The second time Jessie's words echoed in his head, she was dead. And, staring down the barrel of another gun, looking down at the prone body of another victim, he was fairly certain that he was, too.

"Here we are, then," a voice said at his side, and though he didn't turn to look at her he could feel her golden eyes penetrating straight through him. "The final test. So tell me, Jacob: How does it feel to be an assassin?"

The body at his feet didn't gasp, didn't twitch, didn't even bleed. This newest toy was cleaner than the older one, cauterizing wounds as fast as it could make them. That didn't change anything, though. He knew that. He knew what should come next – knew the cold sweat across his forehead, knew the quaver in his hands, knew the tightening in his stomach – and he waited, almost expectantly, for all of it, for that "excess of kindness" to sweep in and ruin everything that Midnight had tried to build for him in the past half year. Waited, as usual, to disappoint.

His waiting filled the outer world with silence. And, as for the inner one…

"Nothing," he said, his eyebrows knitted together. "There's nothing."

"Surely you are at least _satisfied _that you have completed your mission?"

"I didn't want to let you down," he admitted, still as quiet and calm as before. "But I'm not satisfied, either. It's just like I said. There's nothing."

"Hm," was all she said, yet it somehow felt concerned. He couldn't concentrate enough on it to let it bother him. "Very well. We've completed our mission, so there's no need to stand around. Let's prove our success and be going."

He nodded but didn't move, still staring without staring at the body that should have horrified him, but didn't. At the kill that should have repulsed him, but didn't. At the new life that should have destroyed him, but hadn't.

"Jake, what are you standing there for? This is no time for one of your daydreams. We need to set camp, and I would very much like to be well downwind of your first kill when we do."

Over the long months, he had wondered. After he had collapsed atop the rubble that served as Jessie's tomb – after he had said his final farewell to Meowth – after Midnight had found him subdued in the forest – after she had informed him of the new situation and urged him not to fail her – after he had agreed without thought or question – after the months of training that had given him a new partner, a new purpose, a new life – after his tears had dried leaving only salt and the salt had dried leaving only flushed skin, and even that had paled and faded and vanished, until all he had to remember was the occasional dull ache in his chest, the one that grew fainter and fainter with each passing day, disappearing but leaving nothing in its place, not joy or sorrow or even something as unassuming as curiosity – after all of that, he had begun to wonder if there was anything left of the not-quite-a-boy-not-quite-a-man who was lacking in all things but an excess of stupidity and kindness. Had he kept even a shred of that person? Or had he left it all with her, to die in the ruins of a lonely Viridian warehouse?

"Jake!"

He turned automatically at the sound of his new name.

He supposed that gave him his answer.

"Coming, Midnight," he said at last, and followed after her. He didn't look back at the man on the ground. He was afraid he might see the ghost of a not-quite-a-boy-not-quite-a-man called James Morgan still kneeling there, mourning for a stranger that Jacob Carol never could.

Three years would pass, and two assassin partners would become something like friends, helping one another again and again, growing to understand each other well, if perhaps not warmly. One day he would pay his debt to her, and she would release him of his bond. He would leave her because he thought it was what she wanted, and he didn't think it mattered to him either way. Loneliness was an ache he could brush away like clinging cobwebs. Most everything was like that, for him, for now.

Eight months later and he would receive a summons to a mansion that had belonged to someone he used to be. He would sit down across from his client, unrecognized – because of course her fiancée was dead – and she would offer him the job to track down and kill a woman by the name of Anita Lockheart. She would lean across the table and slap a grainy photo down in front of him, pointing to the woman in the picture, her face just barely visible through the falling shadows and mottled grays of the camera lense.

That would be the moment when he would split in two. When half of him would stare at that photograph with his heart pounding, the blood singing in his ears, the tears springing unbidden to his eyes as a hope he had thought he had long buried raged within him, screaming over the sound of the logic that told him it was impossible that _No, oh no, nothing was impossible, least of all this, least of all her_.

The other half of him would merely say, "I see. Thank you for your time," and stand, walking silently out of the room. Because of _course_ it was impossible, and anyway what did it matter? If "Anita" was "Jessie," what difference would it make? That woman's partner – that woman's friend – didn't exist anymore. And soon, because he was the very best at his job, because he was lacking in absolutely nothing but stupidity and kindness, she would return to what she had been for five years. And the universe would go back to exactly the way it had been. What it was _supposed_ to be.

But the other half of him, the _first_ half of him, the half that had hid himself in order to survive, in order to keep from breaking under the weight of losing the only thing he had ever really wanted to protect… that one, still so weak that even Jacob Carol wasn't aware that he was still alive, that one would be wiser. That one would know that absolutely _nothing_ could go back to the way it had been, not now.

And in that little corner of his mind, small but growing stronger with each passing moment, with every footfall that brought him closer to his miracle, for the first time in nearly five years, James Morgan would be utterly terrified… and utterly unable to stop smiling.


	9. Secrets

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Pokemon Universe, otherwise I wouldn't have this awful, brain-clogging cold (I'm aware that that doesn't make sense. I'm also too congested to care). The story is mine, as are the couple of original characters.

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and violence.

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Secrets  
**The next morning Ash did his best to map out the rest of their trip. "We're going to be walking in open air for a day or so. That's when we'll be the most vulnerable to blizzards or other kinds of bad weather. Luckily, I know of a lot of small caves around here, so we should be okay. After that, we'll hit another two-to-three-day trip through a little valley that runs through the mountain range. It's called the Crimson Forest. We'll have running water and shelter once we get there, so it shouldn't be too bad of a trip. After the forest there's a short stretch of open land, maybe another two-day walk, and then... well, the valley, I guess."

"So we're talking four-to-five days, more than one where we could easily be subjected to ice storms," Gary summarized.

"Pretty much, yeah."

"When you put it that way, I can't believe I considered not coming," Brock said, his voice dripping sarcasm.

Tracey did his best to look on the bright side. "At least it's not a cross-country trip through tundra. That would be hell."

"Oh, and this isn't?" Jessie countered.

Misty sighed. "Could we please not get into a fight? We have bounty hunters on our tail, blizzards just lying in wait, and who knows what kind of animals in the forest. The last thing we need is a debate on annoying the trip is going to be."

"She's got a good point," James agreed. "I wouldn't mind getting under some cover as soon as possible. This _is_ autumn in the mountains, after all."

No one could argue with the voices of reason, so they grabbed their supplies and started off, hoping that luck would keep the weather friendly. A good portion of the day was uneventful, and the travelers welcomed the calm.

"Enjoy it while you can. Karl and his gang have likely been moving night and day, and will almost certainly be raining laser shots on us by the time we reach this Crimson Forest." Mariko, the only one not doing their best to enjoy the quiet, sent the reminder out shortly after lunch.

"And you just _have_ to keep reminding us, don't you?" Gary asked somewhat irritably.

Mariko smiled with her eyes. "I can't let you enjoy yourselves _too_ much, now can I?"

Gary muttered something that involved a lot of cursing under his breath. Surprisingly, Tracey came to Mariko's defense. "She's right, though. If we let our guard down, those bounty hunters could catch us unawares."

"Whose side are you on?" Jessie teased. "Even though she _is_ right, we can't spend the whole trip jumping at the tiniest sound." She put her hands behind her head. "Besides, James, Mariko and I are the only ones who need to worry. Karl and his little fan squad don't have any reason to hurt the rest of you."

"I wouldn't be surprised if he did, though, just for fun," James said darkly.

"Mm-hm. That _would_ be something that weasel would do," Mariko added.

With lack of a better subject, Tracey decided to settle his curiosity. "You keep referring to him as just Karl, and James goes by 'Jake' or 'Carol,' but you," he looked to Mariko when he said it, "get called 'Midnight' by everyone – even James. How do you get up to nickname status?" He smiled with a touch of embarrassment. "I know it sounds stupid, but I don't know much about assassins."

"The others call me Midnight because I prefer it to my real name," Mariko replied. "It sounds more like a bounty hunter's name. Mariko," she said the name with a touch of distaste, "means 'desert flower' in Yumaran."

"Yeah, that doesn't really say, 'I can kill you dead,' does it?" Ash remarked with a dry smile.

Mariko nodded. "I don't mind all of you calling me that, of course, or I would have said something. Now," she shot James an unreadable look, "our friend here has earned the nickname 'Rookie,' though not by choice. It is a demeaning thing, and I never use it, but Karl and his cronies do. He also inherited 'Silent Death' along with 'Jacob Carol,' but he prefers not to use it outside of his business transactions. He thinks it sounds – I believe the very blunt word you used was 'stupid,' was it not?"

"It _is_ stupid," James told her. "He may have been rumored to be the deadliest man in the nation, but the old Jacob Carol must have also been the most uncreative man on the _planet_."

Jessie snickered. "And what nickname would _you_ have picked for yourself, Mr. Death?"

"I wouldn't have picked one at all," he said, and she felt him go cold again. "A _real_ assassin doesn't let their targets so much as see his face, so why would he need a nickname?"

"_Shinigami wa kao ga nai_," Brock murmured quietly. When the others turned to look at him, he blinked and explained, "Er, sorry, it's a Tenutan phrase I picked up from my parents. Literally, it means, 'The death gods have no faces,' but it's really just a way of saying that you never know when you might die." He flashed a sardonic smile. "Kinda morbid, huh? But it reminds me of the way the bounty hunters think."

"Very true," Mariko said with a nod. "I thought I recognized that word from somewhere. A brilliant assassin friend of mine possessed a great talent for languages. She used to refer to Jake and myself as _shinigami no futari _– 'the death god duo' as she playfully translated it." Her eyes curled upwards into a smile. "She was also the one who granted Karl the nickname 'weasel' – or, as she sometimes preferred 'the back-stabbing two-faced greedy power hungry weaseling sexist pig.'"

James chuckled. "Aria _did _always have a way with words. I haven't seen her in ages. How is she?"

"Dead."

His eyes widened. "You're kidding."

"No. Someone hired Karl to kill her." There was a harsh edge to the female assassin's voice that the others had never heard before. "Which is one reason I treasure this excuse to take his life."

"Only if you get to him first," James hissed, and Jessie didn't miss the way his fists tightened at his sides. She reached out a tentative hand to press against his shoulder, but he walked forward again, and Jessie lost her nerve. _'I'm no good at comforting people anyway,_' she reminded herself as she followed his back down the path. _'And maybe he doesn't want comfort. Maybe right now he just wants revenge._' Now _that_, she thought, was something she could relate to.

The others seemed just as lost for words, and they continued on in silence for several minutes until an icy wind whipped around the group, sending sprinklings of snow at their feet. Misty pulled her cloak tighter. "A storm on the way? I didn't notice any warning signs."

"There rarely are any in the mountains. You can't see many clouds when they come in from your blind side," Ash explained, jerking a thumb to the rising mountain beside them. "I know of a cave further up. If we hurry we should reach it before the blizzard hits."

"A blizzard?" Misty shivered. "How can you tell?"

Ash glanced at the black edge of a cloud just peeking across the mountain peak. "That's not a flurry cloud. Hopefully it's just snow, and no ice, or we could be in a mess of trouble. Could we all move a little faster? I'd hate to lose someone now."

They all quickened their pace, forcing sore body parts to work harder. They had only been speed-walking for a little over a minute when the first chunks of snow hit their path. Gary's crutch hit a patch of ice and nearly skidded out from beneath him, but he pressed his free hand into the rock wall beside him, taking a breath to steady himself. With both eyes staring hard at the path, now on the lookout for any more hidden dangers, he pushed ahead. Tracey swallowed hard from behind him and reached out a hand to grab his friend's shoulder, when—

_Smack!_

He whirled around to find Mariko standing behind him, her hand cocked paddle-shaped beside her head. As he rubbed at his aching skull and stared at her, she granted him a rare, full smile. "You're welcome," she said, reminding him of his request from the night before. "And keep walking, please. I do not wish to be out in this any longer than I must."

Tracey rolled his eyes and turned back to the path. But instead of steadying Gary, he just called over the whistling wind, "How much farther to this cave?"

Ash seemed unsure. "Not too far, I'm positive. It would be a lot more helpful if I'd been this far up recently. It's been over a year."

"Comforting," Jessie grumbled, but the remark went unheard against the wind.

Before long the dark blizzard cloud had filled the sky, making it almost impossible to see beyond the whirling snowflakes, bits of ice, and dim light. Ash pressed a hand on the wall, calling back to keep up with him and he'd do his best to find the promised cave. Eager to find safety before the path became flat-out impossible for him to traverse, Gary pushed them forward as well.

In their hurry to keep moving, Misty, who had volunteered to carry the heavy cooking supplies that day, fell to the back of the group. She kept Brock and Mariko, the two closest to her, in sight at all times, but was unable to see anyone else through the haze. As they neared a curve in the path, her foot hit an ice-slicked rock. Misty slipped, landing hard on the already snow-packed ground. She squeezed her eyes shut, cursing her clumsiness and rubbing at her sore ankle. When she glanced back up she couldn't see a soul.

Misty's breath quickened. _'No!'_ she screamed inwardly. _'They couldn't have left me! I can't be alone... I can't...'_ She looked down, feeling hot tears on her cheeks. _'__I'm by myself. I'm _by myself_. Oh, no, no, no…!'_

Someone touched her shoulder. The young woman jumped, her head snapping up to stare at a tanned face and a pair of worried, slanted eyes. "Are you okay? Did you hurt something?"

Misty rubbed a hand across her eyes, hoping Brock hadn't seen her tears. She forced her breathing back to normal. There was nothing to worry about, she assured herself. Not now, anyway. "I think I'm okay, though my ankle kinda hurts. I slipped, and when I looked back up everyone was gone."

"I thought that might've been what happened," he told her. "I tried to tell Mariko to let the others know, but I don't think she heard me over the storm."

Brock held out a hand to help her to her feet. Misty took it, using the rock wall to balance out her tender ankle. "Thanks." She brushed off her jeans, shivering. "So now what?"

Brock held up a Pokeball. "Any chance we'll dig into a hot springs again?"

Misty laughed. "We can only hope." She took a step back, watching as Brock's Onix tunneled into the mountain, digging out a small cavern for the pair to wait out the storm. Watching the great beast at work, Misty frowned thoughtfully. "Why didn't you mention this earlier, to Ash?"

Brock shrugged. "I was going to, but he never gave me a chance. Then I wound up near the back of the line and he couldn't hear me anyway." He followed the rock snake into the cave, taking Misty's hand so he could guide her limping steps forward. "Lucky for you I _did_ wind up at the back, huh?"

She nodded, squeezing his palm perhaps a bit tighter than necessary. "More than you know, Brock."

Onix had curled the cave around slightly, so that when they got to the back the wind and snow barely reached them. Brock recalled the Pokémon, glancing around. "It's not the Ritz, but I guess it'll work for the night."

Misty hugged her shivering body. "Too bad there's no heater." She realized she could barely see Brock, who was only standing a few feet away. "Or a lighting system." Through the gloom, she watched as her companion rummaged around in his bag. After a moment, he pulled out what resembled another Pokeball in the dim light. In moments a red fire lizard appeared. "A Charmeleon?"

He grinned. "Bet you didn't know I had one of those."

Using their rolled up sleeping bags as seats, Brock and Misty roasted hot dogs over the lizard's tail. In spite of the chill that still sneaked into the cave, they soon found themselves enjoying the evening as they huddled together under a big blanket, knees curled to their chests and voices echoing around the little cavern.

A little after nightfall the whistling of the wind and the flakes of snow that peeped around the corner slowed, then stopped altogether.

"I think the storm's finally over," Brock remarked. He stood up, moving to the entrance of the burrow. With the blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a cape, Misty followed. Sure enough, the snow was falling softly now, without the harsh edge from before. Brock nodded. "I think I'll go look ahead a little ways, to see if I can find the others."

Misty felt her heart jump in her chest. "I'll come with you," she said immediately.

Brock shook his head. "You'd better stay here. If it speeds up again, it'll be easier for one person to get back than two. Besides, I don't want you to get hurt. The ground's probably covered in ice."

"Then you shouldn't go either," she said, her voice rushing out in an almost frantic hurry. "I mean, why not just wait until morning? The others will be fine until then."

"I'm only going to go a little ways, I promise," he told her. "They're probably worried about us, so if I can find them then we'll come back and get you. Charmeleon will keep you warm, and nothing would attack you in this weather."

Misty's voice held a tone of desperation, though Brock couldn't figure out way. "But, like you said, it isn't safe. What about the ice?"

Brock tapped his shoe. "These things get great traction." He jerked his head at her tennis shoes. "Those don't. I _also_ didn't twist my ankle an hour ago." He patted her shoulder. "I'll be fine, Mist. Really." He turned to go.

Misty's grabbed the back of his shirt, clumping it in her hand and jerking him back into the cave. "But what if_ I_ won't be?" she shrieked.

He turned to stare back at his old friend, surprised to find tears in her eyes. "Misty, what's—?"

"I'll tell you everything," she said, her voice quivering with pent-up sobs, "if you'll please, _please_ not leave me alone."

xxx

Brock handed Misty his canteen. She took it, taking a couple sips and wiping away her tears, even though she knew more would come before the night was over. "Thanks. I needed that." He tucked part of the blanket around her trembling body - more from emotion than cold – before taking the other half for himself. "Even better.

"Okay." She took a deep, long breath to gather all her thoughts. "I've tried to block all the details, so this'll be brief. When Cerulean got bombed - five months ago, though it feels like twenty years - my entire family went down with it. I'd been visiting some friends in Saffron when it happened, and we were all devastated by the news. I borrowed a lot of strength from them, I think, because I handled the whole thing really well – I mean, I really did, you know? I cried all the time, but… but I thought I'd be all right." Her hands tightened in her lap. "That is, until all the sympathetic visitors decided they'd paid their debts. And I was left alone.

"I didn't have anything to keep me busy, so I just… sort of… started thinking about what had happened. For the first time, I really thought about it. And then it was like I couldn't ever _stop_ thinking about." She sniffled, rubbing her wrists together and staring hard into the fire. "The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I wasn't supposed to have died with the rest of them. I became obsessed with that thought. And a couple weeks later, I decided the best way to solve the problem was to just be dead myself." She rolled up the sleeves of her sweater, showing Brock the light pink scars, self-explanatory marks of her suicide attempt. "I chickened out at the last minute – or maybe I just remembered how crazy I was acting, trying to do something like that. Either way, I survived it.

"But after that, I was terrified to be by myself. I told myself that I wouldn't do something like that again, but how could I know? I mean, how could I _really_ know? I didn't want to die, but if I got like that again… I wasn't sure if I'd be able to stop myself a second time." She shuddered at the memory. "A couple months ago, I was taking a shortcut across Mount Silver, on my way to visit some distant family friends who owned a farm right on the Johto border – friends who I thought might need some extra help around the house. There was hardly anyone on the paths, though, and I was too embarrassed to ask to tag along with the strangers that I _did_ see, so, before I knew it, I…" she chuckled darkly. "Well, I was practically in hysterics when Ash found me. Let's just leave it at that."

The soft crackle of a sleeping Charmeleon's tail was all that could be heard. A light wind slithered into the cave, breezing by and sending a shiver down Misty's spine. Brock slid his arm around her shoulders. "I'm so sorry," he said in a whisper. "If I'd only known—"

"Well, now you do," she said, her voice at once trembling and forcing itself to cheerfulness. "Lucky me: I get to be the unstable one." It was a pitiful attempt at humor, but she felt like she had to try and lighten it up or she'd burst into tears again.

"Does anyone else know?"

"Ash does, obviously. Knowing Tracey, he probably does too. I tried to hide it, and I did a decent job. It's only when I'm completely alone that I freak out."

Brock remembered the few moments when her weak side had shown. When Tracey and Gary had arrived, Misty had rubbed her wrists together and commented that she didn't like being by herself; and that afternoon when he and Ash had spoken, and Ash had asked Brock to walk Misty home because "she was afraid to be alone – at night." It all made sense, now. "Why didn't you tell us? It would have stopped moments like this."

"Would _you_ want to go around telling everyone that you were some kind of mental case?" Misty demanded. "I didn't want to get special treatment. It was easier to just make sure I was with someone. And, with our group, it ended up being pretty easy. But I guess I should've known I'd have to face it sooner or later." She looked up at him, forcing a crooked smile even though he could read honest fear in her eyes. "So, what do you think of me now? Still want to be seen in public with the crazy girl?"

Brock gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze for comfort. "You're still the same person. And believe me, in this day and age, you aren't the only one who's considered suicide."

"Who else?"

"Oh, Jessie and James, no doubt. Ash, probably. Maybe Gary." He paused, then said softly, "Me."

"You!" she cried, pulling away so she could stare at him, eyes wide and disbelieving. "B-but how could someone like you...?"

"When you lose your mom as a thirteen-year old kid and have to find a way to raise nine siblings on your own, there are very few solutions you _don't_ think of to get out of it," he admitted. "I never did anything, but I thought about it a few times. In the end, though, I just pushed it aside. Too many people would have been hurt by it." He handed her his water bottle again. "But forget about me - are _you_ okay?"

She sniffed. "I am, now. It helps a little, getting it off my chest. But if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to change the subject." She leaned against him, closing her eyes. "You've been real sweet about this." Her voice lowered into an annoyed snap. "When I explained it all to Ash he just told me that there were people with worse problems. As if I didn't already _know_ that, or as if that somehow makes it _better_…"

Brock frowned. "Is there any chance we could _not_ talk about Ash, just this once?"

Misty's eyes snapped open and she glanced upwards, surprised by the twitch of irritation at the corner of Brock's mouth. "Oh, sure. Sorry." She hesitated. "I do that a lot, don't I?"

"I got used to it after a while," he said with just the slightest edge to his voice. "But you know, Mist, if you like him that much then you ought to just say so—"

"Oh, but why should _I_ have to say _anything_?" Misty asked, irritated. "_You've _been convinced of that little fact since I arrived in Pewter." He flinched at her tone and she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut. "Ugh, sorry. You're trying to be helpful and I'm biting your head off. That's Classic Misty, right there."

"It's okay," he assured her. "I shouldn't have assumed so much."

She sighed, staring down at her hands again. "No, you shouldn't have, but I can't really blame you for doing it. Up until about two nights ago, I might have even _agreed_ with you."

"I don't think I understand," he said, voice hesitantly hopeful, as if he didn't trust his own optimism. "D'you mean… uh, that is…?"

"What I _mean_," Misty explained, "is that I really didn't have the faintest idea _what_ I thought. Because I remembered this part of me that really liked Ash, and that part of me wanted to _keep _liking him, wanted to pretend that nothing had changed since we were kids. That he hadn't changed… and that _I_ hadn't, either. But after that scene in the bar I couldn't keep ignoring it anymore. Even if it was just a stupid mistake on his part, and even if he _has_ gotten a lot better since then… No," she said with a little shake of her head. "Because what he said to Gary didn't make me hate him. It just made me finally look at the 'me' of today instead of the one from before the war. And the 'me' of today had stopped loving Ash – had stopped loving him years ago, I think." She faked a small laugh, trying to hide her embarrassment. "But hey, I thought you didn't want to talk about him."

"I wasn't. I was talking about you," he said quietly.

She smiled. "Always looking out for me."

As another stray wind whipped through the tunnel - the storm had quickened its pace again - Misty pulled the blanket closer around herself, snuggling next to Brock. He stiffened a little, but relaxed after a moment. "Say, Misty…" he said, giving her shivering shoulder a little squeeze. "After everything that happened with Cerulean, why did you try going to those distant friends? Why didn't you just come to Pewter?"

"…I was scared," she admitted with a sigh. "Of what you might think of me, for what I tried to do. That's why I stopped writing you, too. I'm really sorry about that. You must've thought I was dead. Maybe a part of me wanted it that way."

"You had to know I wouldn't really—"

"I did," she said. "But that didn't make me any less afraid of it. Because you were the only important person I really had left. I was too afraid to even _risk_ losing that. Even though, deep down, I really…"

"_Misty? Misty, is that… is that really you? Are you – oh, God, you're crying! What's…?"_

_She jerked her head up, staring into a face that she had thought she would never see again. "Oh…" Her hands unclenched themselves from her arms, where her nails had left sharp red grooves in her skin. "Oh, Ash... I… I…" Misty's hands darted out, clutching at the folds of his cape; her head seemed to jerk itself forward of its own accord, burying itself in his shirt; and the tears clouding her vision at last spilled over in a torrent of panic and grief. _

"_I d-don't w-w-want to _be_ here, Ash! I hate it here, I hate it so, so m-much! I w-want to see m-my family again! I w-w-want to see D-Dad and Mom and D-Daisy and Lily and Violet! But I _can't_, I can't ev-ver see them again and I d-d-don't… I don't know what I'm supposed to _do_!" _

_She bawled, wailed, clutched harder at him, her head slipping out of the folds of his shirt and tilting downwards so she was looking at the rocky ground, so her tears and her words were spilling down, down onto that tough terrain. "I d-don't w-want to see those people, Ash! I d-don't w-want to see those people who I d-don't even r-really know! W-w-why w-would I ev-ver w-want that? I w-want to b-b-be with people I _love_, not a b-bunch of strangers who w-won't understand, who w-won't even care! I w-want to see someone who w-will und-d-derstand, someone who w-will listen to me and hug m-me and tell m-me it's okay and k-keep loving me anyway, even the ugly p-parts of me that even _I_ d-don't w-w-want to love. I want to see you… I want to see you…"_

"_Misty, calm down. I'm right here. I—"_

"_Brock," she gasped out through her sobs, barely aware of her own words but knowing that they were too weak to be anything but truth. "Where _are_ you, Brock? I w-want to see you…"_

"Misty? You all right?" Brock asked, cutting off the memory.

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm… I'm good, actually. I really am." And she realized that she meant it. Because she was finally right where she wanted to be. Misty relaxed against him, reaching up a sleepy hand to wipe away the last threat of tears. "You know, this didn't turn out to be such a bad evening after all," she commented sleepily. "It's so easy to talk to you about everything. I guess that's one of the many reasons why I love ya."

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, the flicker of firelight playing across the cave walls and their faces. Then, Brock murmured, "Love you too, Mist."

There was no response, but he hadn't expected one. Brock knew his companion had already fallen asleep.

* * *

**9/2/08**

Well, this is kind of interesting… I was going to write another new bonus story, but then I got a cold and my brain didn't want to work anymore. Then I was going to write a nice long author's note about some exciting topic, but my cold stuck around and my brain _still_ doesn't want to work. So, after some thought, I decided to skip the author's note and go straight to the character profile. But! Since this chapter _is _ridiculously short, I opted to add an edited scene from one of my old prequel stories to the end to function as a sort of bonus story. I know that the published prequel stories can be difficult to track down, so this will give you a little insight into Brock's relationship with Misty, which makes itself glaringly obvious in this chapter. (heheh) So anyway, let's get to the goodies!

**Misty Williams**

**The Basics**  
-She's twenty years old.  
-As far as appearance goes, her figure has matured, though she still has a very athletic, streamlined build. She's very thin at the start of the story, but she steadies out to a more normal weight during her stay in Pewter. She's about 5'5," the shortest of the main group. Her hair falls to her shoulders with eyebrow-length bangs in the front. She wears it down most of the time, though occasionally she pulls it back into a short ponytail.  
-I gave her the last name "Williams," though it's the only surname that's never actually mentioned during _2k5_. It was one of the two popular fanfiction names at the time I was writing this originally (the other was "Waterflower," and I refused to give anyone that name if I could help it).  
-Before the war, she traveled with Ash up until his victory at the Indigo League. During Ash's busy opening months with the Elite, she and Brock stayed in Pallet Town to study with Professor Oak.

**Wartime History**  
-When the war broke out, Misty went back to Cerulean to be close to her family. She took over the running of the gym again, and enrolled herself back into the local high school (she'd been taking online classes during her travels).  
-Although gas prices skyrocketed, Misty made it a point to save up all of her money to take trips so she could visit her friends. She makes it out to see Brock once (see this chapter's **bonus story** for details), but had to stick to closer cities like Saffron for the most part. She was in Saffron, visiting a couple of girl friends, when Cerulean was bombed.  
-Sadly, there isn't much else to talk about. Though Misty has recently had to deal with the loss of her family, she spent the rest of the war relatively well-off -- and also a little bored.

**Relationships**  
-Misty's sisters were terrified about the war, and they clung to their littlest sister for strength. She very quickly grew annoyed with them, but maintained a close relationship with her parents, especially her dad.  
-Misty and Brock exchanged letters regularly from the time she came down to visit him up until the attack on Cerulean. They were very open with each other, and became even closer friends despite the distance.  
-Ash visited Misty fairly frequently. They were constantly going back and forth between being almost-lovers and almost-enemies (_laughs_).  
-Misty and Gary became good friends while she and Brock were studying with Professor Oak after the Indigo League. She came to think of him a little like a fun older brother.  
-She begged Tracey not to go off to "something as crazy as" the war, and was so mad at him when he did that she ordered him not to even bother sending her letters. She regretted this soon after, and obtained an address from Ash. The two of them exchanged occasional news, but personal conversations were so heavily censored by the mail carriers that they weren't able to keep in very good touch. She lost track of him after the Cerulean bombing.

**General Ramblings**  
Back when I first started watching _Pokemon_, I didn't really like Misty, though I didn't have a good reason for this. I warmed up to her over time, though never to the point where I really _liked_ her – I just didn't have any strong feelings for her one way or another. I genuinely like the Misty who appears in _2k5_, though. Like with most of the other characters, I didn't do a _ton_ to her personality, but instead just took the girl who I saw in the series and matured her a few years. She's still got her temper, but she can control it a little better, and her general passion and kindness towards her friends has only strengthened over time.

I think Misty is probably the _warmest_ character in _2k5_, and whether she's scolding, teasing, or comforting, everything she does is overflowing with life. I think this draws a lot of the other characters to her, and as a result she probably interacts the most intimately with the most people. She has a lot of optimism about the world as a whole, and is definitely the most hopeful out of the group. Like Ash and Gary, though, her wounds are a lot fresher than everyone else's, so she's still wrestling with her own tragedies, as you see in this chapter. Even so, Misty's bright personality allows her to keep moving forward (she's like Gary in that sense). Despite her problems, she wasn't lying when she told Ash that she's happy now, and because of that happiness I think she'll be able to work through her weaknesses and come out with even more of an appreciation for life because of it.

…And I'm going to stop there, because I honestly don't know if what I'm saying makes sense anymore. _(sweatdrop)_ My head is seriously so stuffed up that I'm starting to wonder if I'm actually posting this or if I'm just dreaming it. _(sniffle sniffle) _So Thanks for Reading, as usual, and I'll stumble off and leave you with:

* * *

**Bonus: "Another Hopeless Love Story"**

The months rolled by, seemingly slowly, but before Brock knew it November fifteenth had rolled around and he was nineteen. He was on his way back to his apartment from the small party his siblings had thrown, running a hand against the completed wall that ran around Pewter.

Spotting a car parked in his driveway, one of Brock's eyebrows raised curiously. Gas prices were so extravagant these days that everybody walked, so who would be driving over to see him? Even more puzzling, who would be over to see him at all?

Jogging up to his apartment, he spotted a redhead lounging on his porch. Brock felt a smile burst out across his face as he threw up a hand, waving it at her. "Misty!" He quickened his pace to a near sprint, heading up the front steps and meeting his friend with a hug. "You're the last person I expected to see here! What're you doing so far from home? It's so great to see you, Mist!"

He released his hold and took a step back, allowing himself to get a good look at her. It had been nearly two years since the two had spoken face-to-face, and Brock had forgotten just how much people could change between fourteen and sixteen. She had only added maybe a couple of inches to her height, but her body had matured from adolescent scrawniness to a series of feminine curves, though she had still maintained her streamlined, athletic figure. Her hair hung loose to about the middle of her back, curling a little in the front to frame a face that was thinner than he remembered. Her eyes looked older than they needed to be, but they still sparkled with excitement and warmth, just the way he remembered. He realized with a start that she was attractive, and not just in a general sort of way – that _he_ was attracted _to_ her. "You look great."

"Gonna start flirting with me now, too?" she teased. "Here." Misty shoved a present into his hands, smiling. "I timed my visit so I'd make it right on your birthday. I would have come last year, too, but my parents wanted me to stay home 'cause of the attack and everything."

Brock's eyes dropped to the present; even after over a year, he still hated talking about the vicious attack on Pewter that had killed three of his siblings and permanently estranged him from his father.

One of her hands closed around his. "Oh, sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up. I should've known you were still sensitive about it. I won't mention it again."

He managed a small smile. "Nah, it's okay, it's been over a year. If I can't talk about it now, then I'll never be able to. Let's go inside. I'll open this and get some food out, and we can go up on the roof if you want. I've got a great view of the city."

"You don't have to cook some big meal just because I'm here," she assured him. "I'm not that hungry anyway."

"You're starving."

She blushed. "You know me too well. I blew all my money on a tank of gas. The prices in Cerulean are about as bad as they are here."

"I was gonna ask you about that. Is that your car?" She nodded. "It's nice. But why'd you spend everything you had just to see me? A card in the mail would've been cheaper."

She pursed her lips. "You and my sisters! It's all about money these days, isn't it? Well, even if I had to rob the National Bank itself I'd have come out to give you your present and say 'Happy birthday.' We haven't seen each other in _years_, and with this war going on I never know if I'll see you again."

Brock blinked, a little surprised at Misty's honest attitude about the war. Most people were so careful when they spoke about it, if they spoke about it at all. "You don't seem to mind going straight to the depressing stuff, do you?"

She pursed her lips again. "Huh, everyone tells me that. Especially Daisy. 'Misty, sweetie, don't talk about it like that! It gives me nightmares!'" She set her hands defiantly against her hips. "It's so annoying. There's no reason to ignore the problem, because it sure as hell isn't going away, and if you just shove it down you'll explode, so why _not_ discuss it?"

He chuckled. Finally, someone who he could talk – _really_ talk – to. "I feel the same way. Come on in, it's freezing out here. We'll talk after dinner, about anything you want."

Misty smiled. "It's about time I found someone who agrees with me. Lead the way, Brock."

xxx

After the meal ("Delicious as always," Misty said with a grin) the two clambered up to the flat roof of Brock's apartment. Practically smothered in blankets to protect against the chill autumn wind, they shivered anyway and spoke whatever came to mind.

"You heard about Gary and Tracey, didn't you?" When Brock nodded, Misty threw her hands into the air. "It's crazy, them joining the war! Especially Trace, he isn't the type to go around dropping bombs and blowing up enemy planes. Huh, I bet they don't even know what a TWA's cockpit looks like, unless you count arcade games, which I certainly don't!"

"TWA is a charter plane, Mist, not a fighter," Brock teased. He didn't know what he liked best about her - her temper, or the fact that she was only mad because she was worried.

"Whatever. The worst part is that Delia just got a letter a while ago that said they were done with the training and that they're actually going into the war! Out into those battlefields, it's insane! They'll probably be starved, worked to exhaustion, and what if some enemy hits them? Did they ever think of that?" She punched her fists down onto her blanket. "Of course not! Gary just thinks he's got something to prove and Tracey... well Tracey's too damn patriotic for his own good! War is so... so…"

She spluttered to find the right word, which gave Brock enough time to say, "I was thinking about joining up."

Misty gaped at him. "You? You're _kidding_! W-what about your family? You're just gonna get up and leave them?"

Brock leaned back on his elbows, looking up at the stars and sighing. "Mist, as much as I hate to admit it, Flint," he spat the name, "has things pretty well under control. There isn't anything I _can_ do for them, and it gets so lonely around here sometimes... Besides, they need everyone they can get."

"This is a really sick joke, Brock Stuart Harrison—"

"It's no joke, Mist," he said, and meant it. He hadn't talked about this with anyone before, not even Celia, but now seemed as good a time as any. "I'm dead serious."

"And that's what you'll be if you go! _Dead_! Oh, Brock!" He thought he caught a strangled sob, but couldn't really believe it. Misty just wasn't a crier. "Brock, if you enlist, I'll go crazy, I just know it! I'm already giving myself an ulcer worrying about Gary and Tracey, and Ash too, he's traveling around, and you know how there are guys out there who would love to put a bullet in the League Champ's head... and even Team Rocket, I read about them last year, and..." She swallowed hard and whirled on him, grabbing at his arm. "You're the only one who's even a little safe, and the only person I can talk to and worry with and... Brock, you have to promise me you won't do it!"

He could have argued with her if she hadn't made him look into her pleading, tear-filled eyes. But staring at her like that, he thought that perhaps her eyes _were_ older than they needed to be, but they were still so, so much younger than his. She had managed to avoid the harshest tragedies of this war. She still had a scrap of her innocence left.

And, thinking that, he knew that he could never do anything that would even _risk_ destroying that. So he abandoned all his plans for the sake of a pair of teary eyes. He really hadn't changed at all, he thought with a smile. "Ah, it's okay, Mist. It was just a thought, that's all. I promise I won't go to the war. I'll stay in Pewter and fight off the armies of boredom instead. Speaking of which, how long do you plan on being here?"

Misty looked away, wiping at her eyes quickly, as if she could somehow hide the fact that she'd been about to cry. "Well, that depends. How long do you want me to stay?"

"How 'bout forever?"

She laughed. "Seriously?"

"It gets so lonely around here, sometimes it drives me insane. I'd love to have a friend nearby, especially one like you, who I can really talk to. I mean sure, there's the family, but I hate going there after... after some trouble with Flint."

"Tell me about it."

So Brock told her about the attack on Pewter – about how they had evacuated their home in the middle of the night, chased by the sounds of violence and the fires of the enemy attackers; how they had scrambled not to be separated in their haste to reach the safety of the nearest Center; about how they had unwittingly lost Walker, the second-oldest in the family, and his charges Olivia and Reese, and hadn't even noticed until they had reached the center; about how Brock, frantic, had tried to go after them, and how Flint had physically restrained him, even _hitting_ him to keep him there; and, finally, about the next morning, when Flint tried to make amends, and Brock had told him he could go to hell, and with those last defiant words he had at last snapped the thin thread that had remained of their strained, terse relationship. And when he was done he fell into silence, fighting back the ache that always snuck up on him when he thought of his dead siblings, the ones that he could have saved – and the ones that Flint had let die.

"…I see why you moved out," Misty said at last. "After all that, I would have, too." She hesitated with her next words, then tightened her jaw and continued. "But it wasn't all his fault, you know. From what you told me, he did _try_ to fix things between you two, at first. And the only reason he held you back that night was because he didn't want to risk losing you too, I think. If I were Mr. Harrison, I'd probably get tired of dealing with an uncooperative kid like you, too."

"I'm _glad_ he got tired of fighting me," Brock told her. "He thought when I came back things would be fine between us, as if I could _forget_ that he'd run out on the family and left Mom to die. What an idiot. See, if he'd just backed off, I could've handled it. But I can't stand people who aren't honest – with me _or_ themselves."

"Even so," Misty murmured, "he only did it because he wanted forgiveness. It's not so much to ask, is it?"

"It's plenty to ask coming from that man," Brock snapped. "And whose side are you on, anyway?"

She put up her hands in defense. "Yours, of course. I get exactly what you're saying, and in your place I'd probably feel the same way. Ignore me, I'm just playing the devil's advocate."

Brock couldn't be mad at Misty, not really. He respected her, even if he didn't always agree with her, and she was the same way. That was what made them such great friends – they understood each other. They sat in silence for a while, then Misty asked, "Have you heard from Ash?"

"Not since April."

"Wow. I thought he'd call, or write you or something," she said in mild surprise.

Brock's eyes trailed to the view of Pewter around him. "We aren't exactly on speaking terms at the moment."

"Really?" Misty smiled wryly. "He sure knows how to piss people off. He left Cerulean a few months ago with me practically throwing furniture at him; told him I never wanted to see him again, the little idiot. But that's not important. What happened between you two?"

So once more Brock let out all his frustrations, thanking the Meddlers he had a person who listened, cared and understood. This one began in much the same way – with Brock relaying the attack on Pewter to Ash – but ended with a slight difference… though perhaps even the conclusions were the same, really…

_"Geez, Brock, I'm sorry about everything that's happened around here," Ash murmured into his knees. "I wish there was something I could do. You know I'd be doing everything I could to stop this war, it's just that the Elite have their rules."_

_"The Elite are hypocrites," Brock said flatly._

_Ash's head snapped around to face his friend. "Huh? What makes you say that?"_

_"Listen to how they talk, Ash. They go on and on about being these pacifists who want nothing more than to live in a world of harmony, they'll talk forever about how war is morally wrong and killing is evil...But when a war _does_ come along, they sit back at the Plateau, looking out and clucking their tongues and doing _absolutely nothing_ to stop it."_

_"It's not like they could do much," Ash protested._

_Brock snorted. "You know as well as I do that the Elite are one of the most influential groups of people on the planet. If they make it a point to get up in front of everyone and shout that the war has to end, then people will listen. But they _don't_, because they're nothing but a bunch of hypocrites."_

_"B-but Lance said that we don't need to involve ourselves in political problems, and that using our influence in that way is wrong."_

_"It's wrong to try and end a war that's already killed millions?" Brock snapped. He sat up now, so he was face-to-face with the League Champ._

_His burning eyes forced Ash to look away. "Prima told me—"_

_"Would you stop quoting everything _they_ say and tell me what _you_ think? Or do you even have a mind of your own anymore, now that your precious Elite have gotten a hold of you?" He softened slightly, offering his friend a concerned frown. "Really Ash, it's kind of scaring me. Don't you have an opinion? If you kept pressing your own ideas, they'd probably start listening to you."_

_Brock's willingness to make peace only seemed to flare the League Champ's own temper, as he straightened up and replied hotly, "Look, I said I was sorry about it. What more do you want? The Elite are smart – smarter than me, and a _whole lot_ smarter than you – and you have no right to lay the blame on _them_ just because you lost some family."_

"_What?" Brock cried. "This has never been about my—"_

"_Oh come _on!_" Ash shot back. "Of _course_ that's what this is about! That's all it's _ever _been about, is you trying to find someone to blame for what happened to your brothers and sister! But it's not the Elite's fault that _you _couldn't save them, it's not the Elite's fault that both you and your dad let them d—"_

_Brock didn't even realize that his fist was moving until it connected with Ash's cheek, nor did he hear his own words until they had already echoed around the rooftop, reverberating through the raging hum that sang in his ears._

"_Shut the fuck up! Shut the _FUCK UP! _What the hell do you know, anyway? You don't even _have_ a father!" _

_Ash's head had whipped to the side under the force of Brock's blow, but at his words it snapped forward again, his neck flushed and murder in his eyes. Brock readied himself to intercept the blow that he knew would come, but just as it looked as if Ash would launch himself at his friend he straightened suddenly, all the fire immediately replaced by ice._

_"Well," he said coldly. "Then I guess that's that."_

_No punch was thrown. No more words were spoken. Silently Ash stood, blowing out a shrill whistle. Moments later, a Dragonite landed lightly on the apartment roof. Ash got onto the dragon's back with a swish of black cape, and in moments he was airborne and gone…_

Misty sat in pensive silence for a while, then finally said, "You shouldn't have said that about his dad."

"Always sticking up for him, aren't you?" Brock said, harsher than he'd intended. "I wasn't the first one to step over the line. He had absolutely no right—"

"Yes, but I'd have expected better from you," Misty explained, at her bluntest. "Ash doesn't have the kind of class you have. Oh, he tries, but he'll always be a stubborn, cocky..." She gave a toothy, annoyed grin. "But I'm getting off the subject. I didn't think you'd ever say something like that to anybody. Ash, yes, his temper gets the best of him sometimes, but _you_?"

Brock offered her a wry smile. Misty words stung, but it was easier hearing them from another person's mouth than from his own mind. "If you can get me pissed, I'm not a very nice person. And unfortunately, I rarely regret what happens when I get that way."

"Like telling your dad to—"

"Yeah."

Misty fixed him with her most prying stare. "So why haven't you contacted him? I know you have his cell number, or if the phone lines are down you could at least write him a letter. A friendship's more important than one fight, isn't it?"

"I tried calling him. Once. He didn't answer, and I never got a call back. Ash is immature enough to hold a grudge, I guess."

"There's the pot calling the kettle black," Misty murmured into her blankets.

Brock shot her a look. "Beg pardon?"

"Oh, never mind. It's too cold to argue anymore. Let's talk about something happier, all right? How're you doing with Pineco? Does he still explode all the time?"

Brock was more than happy to change the subject. "Not all the time, just when he gets upset. Where's Togepi? I figured you'd bring him along."

"It's Togetic, now. I left him at home, my sisters'd go crazy if they didn't think they had a strong Pokémon to protect them from an attack. I love 'em, but what a trio of wimps. I'm sure you remember when they made me come back to be in that water play, and they couldn't even fight off Team Rocket – may they rest in peace. They're _helpless_ without me to back them up in a crisis..."

xxx

The next week passed in a flurry of excitement, and before Brock knew it, Misty had to go home. He hated seeing her leave, especially after only seven short days; the best seven days he could say he'd had in the past year or so. Misty was the most straightforward, honest, and, beneath it all, caring person he knew, and she expected nothing but the same from him. They never had anything like a real fight, though they disagreed on plenty a topic, but the two understood where the other was coming from and left them to their own thoughts. Best of all, she didn't keep up that cheerful pretense that he'd received from his family and Ash.

"If I don't like the way the world's working, I may as well let them all know it," Misty had told him, not bothering to mask her irritation. "And if they want to sit back, smile and say 'Oh, yes, millions of people are dead along with my son, but I'm doing just fine, thank you,' then they're idiots."

Gods, she was wonderful.

The water trainer lounged against her car, reluctant to leave. "I really had fun this week."

"So did I," Brock said dejectedly. He didn't want her to leave anymore than she did, and the thought of life going back to its monotonous ways made him even gloomier.

"If my parents and sisters weren't so scared about everything I'd stay for a couple months, but... well, you can't abandon family, I guess." When Brock looked to the ground, Misty leaned over, flicking up his chin and meeting him with a smile. "Hey, cheer up. I may not be able to drive down here every year, what with gas prices and all, but I'll send letters, and we'll keep in touch. Sound good?"

Brock met her bright, warm eyes and had a sudden, inexplicable, and nearly overwhelming urge to kiss her. The thought shocked him so much that he actually took a step back, blinking down at her as he fought to erase the unexpected desire, to explain it away, to imagine that it hadn't really happened… But his efforts did nothing to change his feelings, and he understood with abrupt and painful clarity that he had, in one short week, fallen hopelessly for his childhood friend. And he hadn't even realized it until it was almost too late.

"Geez, you look like a lost puppy," Misty teased. "Me going away can't be _that _bad, can it?"

He pushed back his shock and forced a smile. "I'll just miss you, is all. It won't be the same around here without you."

"I'll miss you too." She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tightly. "Even if I never see you again, I can't imagine a better scene to end with. This week's just been a blast. And Brock?"

"Mm?" he murmured, distracted by a very sudden awareness of every single place that their bodies were touching.

"I know we haven't really talked too much about the serious stuff since the first day, but they've been on my mind and bothering me a little, too. Just hear me out and try to understand what I'm saying, okay?"

If it kept her in Pewter longer, Brock was willing to hear a lecture on stringed beans. "I'm listening."

She pulled back a little so that she could look at him, dropping her arms from his waist and cupping his hands in hers instead. "With the way things are now, you never know when you might talk to someone for the last time. It might be ten years from now, ten months, ten days, or ten hours. Who knows when a bomb might drop, a city get attacked, an airplane with your friend in it go down? Before you know it, they could be gone forever, and then... well, then there's all the things you could have said, should have said, would have said. Life's too short to hold back what you really want to tell a person."

For one brief second Brock thought Misty shared his feelings – but only for a second. Because he knew – had always known, really – that Misty had never, would never, could never share those feelings with him. There was someone else that she'd always been looking at, right from the moment they had met. And it was that someone who she was talking about now as well. "Listen, if this is about what happened with me and Ash—"

"I wasn't talking about Ash," she said quietly. "I was talking about your father."

"Forgive him?" Brock spat. "It'll be a cold day in hell when I forgive Flint."

"I'm not asking you to do anything, just think about it," Misty said with a smile. Seeing his indignant look, she sighed. "Oh, forget it. Sometimes you're as thick-headed as Ash. Anyway, I'd better head back home. If I'm not there by sunset my dad'll have a heart attack." Before Brock could say anything else, Misty leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, and he forgot how to be upset. "Anyway, I guess I'm off. Try to reply to my letters when you can."

"I-I will. I'll tell you everything," he stuttered, forcing himself _not_ to give everything away. Whatever had just happened here, he knew he couldn't tell her. If he did, it would ruin what he did have with her – and this closeness was far too precious for him to risk throwing it away, not for something that he knew he could never have.

Not that _knowing_ it was hopeless would make any difference about how _he_ felt, of course. Brock always had been a victim of hopeless love stories. He really shouldn't have expected things to be any different just because he had grown up a little.

So he just smiled, and swallowed it back, and said what he was supposed to say – what Misty's best friend would say. "We'll stay friends, even if we can't see each other. That's a promise."

"You bet it is," she agreed, hopping into her car and revving up at the engine. As she rolled out of the driveway, he heard her shout her final words - and the last words he would hear from her in person for nearly three more years. "Stay safe! Bye, Brock! Love ya!"

"Bye, Mist!" he called back, waving. As she drove off down the narrow street and towards the western gate, her car growing smaller and smaller by the second, he felt more than heard himself whisper quietly to the chilly autumn air, "Love you, too."


	10. Crossroads

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Pokemon Universe, otherwise I'd have people working under me who could think up witty things for me to say in these disclaimers (Japanese homework makes my brain so very, very tired). The story is mine, as are the couple of original characters.**  
**

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and violence.

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Crossroads**  
Misty woke up slowly, blinking steadily at the unfamiliar rock walls. The flood of events from the night before filled her mind, and she looked up. Brock was still sleeping, leaning against the cave wall for support. She sighed, hating to wake him up but knowing that the others would be worried. "Brock? Hey, Brock? It's morning."

He opened one eye, then the other, glancing around. He yawned. "Guess it is."

They ate a quick, cold breakfast, then packed up their few supplies. Brock sent his Charmeleon in for a long, well-deserved rest, shouldering his backpack in the process. "We need to find the others. I hope they found some shelter too."

As they reached the cave entrance, Misty pulled to a halt. Brock stopped as well, asking her what was wrong. She rubbed her arm nervously. "I, well, about yesterday..."

"It was nothing. Really," he assured her. "And now that I know, I'll be sure to keep you company if the others decide to go off."

"Yeah. I know. It's just... oh, hell," Misty leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek. "You deserved that. Thanks." She flicked a shoulder to balance the weight of her bag, then started up the trail. It took her a few steps before she realized that Brock still hadn't moved. Misty looked over her shoulder. "You coming?"

He shook his head to clear it. "Yeah, yeah. Right... right behind you."

The soft sunlight, shining through a faintly overcast sky, made the snow sparkle in the morning light. It was nearly impossible to tell that a storm had even passed. Misty's gaze flew all around the mountain, her mouth parted in an almost constant smile of wonder, but Brock wasn't enjoying the view nearly as much. He was too busy watching a pair of very confused emotions fighting viciously inside of him. Finally, just as his silence had gone on for so long that Misty was starting to worry about him, he said, "Say, Misty? What… er, that is… what _am_ I, to you?"

"Huh? Well you're my best fr…" She trailed off, her feet slowing to a halt. She turned to him, wondering when he had stopped moving, too, and stared up at him, her eyebrows scrunched together in a puzzled frown. After a moment she shook her head, murmuring, "No. That's not right, is it?" But the rest of it was too crazy to even think about, much less _tell_ him, so she just pushed it away and forced a smile, saying, "There isn't a word for what you are. I'll have to invent one."

"W-well…" he said, rubbing at the back of his head. "While you're working on that, I was wondering if, er, when this is all over, and things have sort of settled down again..." Brock knew he was rambling, so he finished fast. "I thought maybe you and I could, you know, maybe go to a movie or something."

Misty raised an eyebrow while a smile played on her lips. "Brock Harrison, are you asking _me_ out on a date?" He nodded sheepishly. "But don't you think… I mean, _I'd_ like that, but wouldn't it be a little weird for you?"

"Why would it be?"

Misty's half smile turned into a full one. "Huh. I don't really know." She was about to say more when something caught her attention. She cocked her head to the side, listening intently. "I think I just heard someone call my name."

Dimly, as if blocked by something, came the shout of, "Misty!" followed shortly by, "Brock!"

"See that? They're worried about us," Misty cupped her hands melodramatically. "It warms my heart. We probably shouldn't make them wait any longer." She reached forward, taking his hands into her own and giving them a little squeeze. "We'll talk more about that movie later, all right? I promise." Then she rotated her hold so that their hands with clasped together, and without another word she tugged him down the path and towards the echoing voices of their friends. Brock stumbled along behind, thankful that Misty had her eyes turned forward. He had a feeling that the wide, baffled smile on his face looked very, _very_ foolish right about now.

It didn't take the pair long to find their friends, or find out why their calls had been so muffled. Their other companions had taken refuge in a cave surrounded by rock mounds - from a long-ago earthquake - and the noise hadn't been carried quite as far. As they rounded a corner, the distinct voices of the others could be heard, discussing Misty and Brock's fate.

"Lay off the yelling," Gary told Jessie and Tracey, the two shouters of the party. "It's just bouncing around this spot and giving us all headaches."

"I don't see you thinking of any better ideas," Jessie retorted.

"I hope they're okay," Tracey murmured to nobody.

The next dark words came from Ash, though to his credit he sounded just as worried as the others. "For all we know they're human icicles by now. That was one hell of a storm."

"That's hardly what we wanted to hear!" a few voices snapped in unison.

Mariko's voice remained calm as usual. "I have no doubt that they are perfectly safe. Brock is a resourceful man, and Misty is no fool. If they did not find a cave then they at least found some sort of shelter. If we wait long enough, I have no doubt they will find us."

James couldn't mask his own concern. "Still, maybe we ought to send out search parties. I'm sure they're alive, but if one of them is hurt..."

Misty had enjoyed spying on the camp, but now decided to make herself known. "I feel so loved!" she cried, stepping out from behind the cluster of rocks. "It's so nice knowing that I have friends who care if I live or die." She raised an eyebrow in Ash's direction. "Human icicles, huh? What a nice thought."

Ash shifted uncomfortably. "Er, sorry about that." His eyes – along with the eyes of everyone else – flickered for a moment to the clasped hands of his two companions. Tracey nodded knowingly, and Gary's eyebrows shot up in a surprised, silent question. Brock flushed and quickly dropped his hold on Misty's hand, looking hurriedly away. But Ash just shrugged, glancing down at his watch and saying, "Oh good, it's only nine. We still have plenty of time." He waved a hand down the path. "Come on, we have a long way to go. I think the forest isn't too far off – despite the storm we made good time."

"That's good," Brock agreed, perhaps a little louder than was necessary. Tracey and Gary exchanged amused looks before turning to follow Ash. Misty glared at Brock, but when he hurried forward to join the veteran soldiers, she just threw up her hands and stalked after them, everything from her tense shoulders to her stomping feet screaming frustration.

Jessie grinned at James and Mariko. "Looks like we'll have some _drama_," she half-sang the word, "waiting for us in the forest. I can't wait to see how _this_ turns out."

As she hurried off after the others, James and Mariko shot each other knowing looks.

"And we know exactly what _else_ will be waiting for us," Mariko murmured.

"Karl and his gang, hoping to catch us by surprise," James said.

"Catch _us_ by surprise." Mariko's eyes flashed dangerously. "You would think he would know us better than that."

xxx

As Ash had predicted, they reached the Crimson Forest by noon. A wide, worn-in path led through the forest, lined by rocks to keep plants from covering the trail.

"Where did this road come from?" Tracey asked.

"It's been here for over a hundred years, used by the members of the Elite," Ash explained. "Typically, where we're headed is used as the summer getaway, where they can escape the paparazzi and get some peace. It just also happens to be ideal in the middle of a war, since no one but members know about it."

"So this is one of those top secret things, huh?" Tracey summarized. He chuckled. "Are we going to have to take a blood oath never to tell anyone of it?"

"Not if Lance feels he can trust you," Ash said, sounding completely serious. Tracey let it drop.

James and Mariko, covering both sides of Jessie, watched the forest around them with attentive eyes and tense bodies. Jessie, unable to resist, fell back a little and pinched James' neck. He jerked, whirling around and pointing the gun straight at her head. Jessie's breath caught in her throat and she instinctively held up her hands. "Whoa, kidding."

James lowered the weapon slowly. "Don't _ever_ do that again."

"Sorry," she said, and meant it. "But you just look so tense. Like every little noise is going to be an assassin."

Mariko's eyes darted across the shaded pine trees. "It very well could be. They have good cover in this place. Though, with the road as wide as it is, to get within an accurate range would be hard without exposing yourself."

"Is it really hard to aim those things?" Jessie wondered. "I mean, the road isn't _that_ wide."

"It isn't hard for Jake and myself. Karl and his own tend to have a worse bark than bite," Mariko explained.

"As long as you don't make him mad," James muttered.

Mariko echoed the remark with a sort of wild excitement in her voice. There was no doubt in Jessie's mind that this was the Yumaran woman's element - she was only truly happy when wielding the laser weapons.

A large object zipped through the air and James instinctively pushed Jessie to the ground. All traffic on the road stopped, the group watching as Mariko bent over and picked up the rolling rock. A small note was tied to it. "How creative," she said dryly, unfolding the message and reading it out loud. "_'Hand over Anita Lockheart, and we'll let all but the bounty hunters leave unharmed.'_" Mariko tossed the message into the air. In a split second she whipped out her gun and burnt the paper to a crisp. "That, Karl, is what I think of your idea."

A laser shot flew above all their heads, more like a warning then a real attack. Misty squeaked. Ash swore. Tracey and Gary grabbed their friends by the arms and dragged them backwards, keeping their heads low and moving in a hurry farther down the road and out of the line of fire. And Mariko, her expression never once wavering, slipped her satchel from her back, pivoted to her right, aimed, and fired all in one fluid motion. She cursed in Yumaran under her breath. "Barely missed him."

James felt someone on his left rather than saw them. He turned, just in time to see a female bounty hunter wavering her weapon between him and Jessie. Not skipping a beat, James shoved a rising Jessie to the ground again and pulled his own weapon out, shooting the woman head on. She was dead before she even hit the ground.

Something inside of James went off. He jerked up, startled by the odd sensation. By the time he had managed to shake off a part of it and ignore the rest, Mariko had already killed another member of the gang. The others disappeared quickly into the woods, with Karl yelling back through the trees, "Expect another visit tomorrow. We won't be takin' prisoners."

The forest fell silent again, save for the soft whistle of wind through the tops of the trees. Somewhere a Murkrow cawed a complaint. And then, at last, Gary uttered a single word that said everything that needed to be said. "Damn."

Mariko helped Jessie to her feet as Tracey and Gary did a sweep of the others to make sure everyone was uninjured. Tracey frowned as his eyes turned to Misty, who had her own gaze trained on the dead bounty hunters, her hands clapped over her mouth and her face a chalky white. A quick glance at a tight-jawed Brock told him that the other more domestic member of their group wasn't doing so well himself. Wordlessly Tracey pressed a hand to Brock's shoulder, pointing first at Misty and then off down the path, as if to say, _"We'll catch up with you_._"_ Brock swallowed hard and nodded, setting his own hand to Misty's shoulder, rotating her gently away from the violence and guiding her down the road.

"Are they all right?" Mariko asked.

"Just shaken up," Tracey assured her. "They've dealt with death before, but never like this."

"Yeah, I remember the first time _you_ ever saw a man get shot," Gary remarked with an affectionate grin. "I thought we were gonna be scrubbing vomit outta your—"

"At any rate, I sent them on ahead," Tracey finished, pounding Gary in the ribs with his elbow as he did. "What should we do with them?" He gestured to the two bodies.

"Leave them," Mariko said. "Karl will come back and take care of his own. It is the only good thing I can say about the weasel."

"Well, I'm glad we've got you and James on our side," Ash complimented after another gap of silence. "They didn't get a single one of us, and we took down two of theirs."

"We?" Mariko queried, sending a sharp look his way.

Ash recoiled under the stare. "Er… you know what I mean."

"How many more do you think there are?" Jessie asked.

Mariko holstered her guns, though she kept her hands against the hilts just to be safe. "Normally he keeps five other than himself, so that would be my best guess."

Tracey looked to James, who had not moved since he'd killed the female assassin. He had a hand pressed to his forehead, as if he were fighting a headache. "James? You okay?"

He glanced up, seeing the others watching him, concern in their faces. He shook his head slowly. "I'm fine. Is everyone else all right?"

"All present and accounted for," Gary reported with a teasing salute.

Jessie, Mariko, and the ever watchful Tracey knew that James was definitely not fine, but didn't bother pushing the matter, especially in front of the others.

"Now what?" Ash asked.

Mariko picked up her satchel again. "We continue. Hunted or not, you still have to finish this little mission of yours. We will merely be, shall we say, sidetracked a bit from time to time."

Gary looked off into the woods. "You think they'll be back again today?"

"No," she assured him. "Karl said to expect him tomorrow. He may be a liar, and a sneak, and a back-stabber, but he keeps his word when it involves hunting. This is his 'game,' after all, and it would be unfair of him to try and cheat us."

Mariko took off down the path at a swift lope, forcing the others to keep up. The rest of the group followed behind, with James trailing far to the back. Jessie tried to slow her pace to match his, but even when they were in step with each other he didn't even look at her, but instead just stared at the ground, saying nothing, his eyes flickering confusion. Jessie frowned but couldn't think of anything to say, not with the others so close by, at least. She fell deep into thought herself, and didn't even notice when they had caught up to Misty and Brock until she heard Gary say, "Oh sweet, I won the bet."

Jessie's eyes flickered upwards in time to see Brock's hands jerk back from Misty's shoulders. "Er, no, it's – she was upset because of the fighting, and I was just – I, I mean…"

"Oh, shut up!" Misty snarled, jabbing an accusing finger into his chest. "If you're so ashamed of the idea of dating me then we'll just forget the whole damn thing!"

"You know that's not it—"

"Then grow a pair already!" she snapped. Gary and Jessie both snickered, though she didn't hear them because she had already continued with her tirade. "We're not twelve years old, you idiot! We can hold hands and people aren't gonna start singing '_Misty and Brock sitting in a tree_.'"

"_K-I-S-S-I-N-G_," Gary and Jessie sang quietly to each other.

"It's not _that_, either," he said.

"Then _what_?" she demanded. "Why have you been walking on pins and needles around me ever since this morning? Why do you refuse to let anyone see you so much as _touching_ me? It's not like we're buck naked and going at it in the leaves, for God's sake!"

Gary and Jessie both gave up and fell over each other laughing, but their reaction was lost on the hapless Brock, who could do nothing but look back and forth between Ash and Misty. Had Gary been able to breathe, he might have remarked that his friend looked exactly like someone who had been caught in bed with another man's wife. It would have been a fair description, in fact, as Brock finally turned back to Misty and interrupted her scolding with a flustered, "I just didn't want to hurt Ash, okay?" She stopped short and stared at him, but by now he'd already turned back to Ash, his hands spread helplessly. "Look, some stuff happened last night, and Misty and I are sort of dating, now. I was going to talk to you in private later, but I obviously can't do that now." He sighed, pressing a hand to the side of his face. He was too busy staring at his younger friend to notice Misty rolling her eyes behind his back. "I'm really sorry about this, Ash."

Ash glanced at Misty for a moment, then turned to Brock, his face unreadable, and said in a perfect deadpan, "The League Champ was her first kiss, you know. What do _you_ do for a living?" He dodged fast enough to avoid the full force of the rock that Misty chucked at him, but still winced as it skipped off the edge of his shin. "Hey, I _told_ you I'd do it! You can't be mad at me if I warn you in advance!"

"You're _impossible_!" she cried through laughter. "Both of you are absolutely impossible!"

Brock looked back and forth between the two again, though this time he was more confused than upset. "So… so you're okay with this? I – I mean, you aren't…?"

"What? You need my blessing or something?" Ash asked.

"Well, no," he admitted. "But we're still friends. I didn't want you to be upset."

Ash shrugged. "My two best friends are dating each other. Not real sure how I could be upset about that."

Misty rolled her eyes again. "This is what happens when you date a guy who's overly nice _and_ completely delusional." She sighed, cupping Brock's hands in her own and speaking slowly, as if addressing an infant. "Brock, Ash and I do _not_ have feelings for each other anymore. We are 100-percent platonic. You. Can. Stop. Freaking. Out. Now. Okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said with a sheepish smile.

She pecked him on the cheek again. "Thank you."

"So…" Gary said from behind them. "I _did_ win the bet, didn't I?"

"Shut up," Tracey hissed.

"What bet?" Ash, Misty, and Brock all asked as one.

"Well," Gary began, ignoring Tracey's death glares and grinning at his friends. "Back when we first got to Pewter, Tracey here remarked to me that he thought Brock might have a thing for Misty, and that it might cause some problems because Tracey _also_ thought _Ash_ had a thing for Misty. And then he told me that he felt a little sorry for Brock."

"Please stop," Tracey muttered in his hands.

"To which _I_ said," Gary continued, "'Why Tracey, what ever do you mean?' To which he replied, 'Well Gary, if I were to place any bets on it, I'd be putting my money on Ash.' To which _I_ said, 'Let's make it fifty bucks, then.'" He threw a wink at Brock. "I like rooting for the underdog, y'know."

"Thanks," Brock muttered dryly. "But—"

"Oh no, don't interrupt, I'm getting to the best part. You see, what happened _next_ is, _Tracey_ said—" The artist groaned at his side, but Gary just went cheerfully on with, "'That'll be' – oh, and I'm quoting here – 'That'll be the easiest fifty bucks I've ever earned.'"

"I changed my mind after like _three_ _days_," Tracey said hurriedly. "I mean anyone with half a brain could see that Ash and Misty weren't interested in each other anymore – er, no offense, Brock…"

"You _bet_ on my _love life_?" Misty shrieked.

"I won fifty bucks on your love life, missy," Gary corrected.

The clearing filled with strings of angry curses from Misty, frantic cries of "calm down!" from Brock, continuous apologies from Tracey – and almost nonstop laughter from both Gary _and_ Ash. Mariko's eyes curled up into a smile. "Entertaining as always," she remarked to Jessie. "Well, we may as well set camp here. Care to help me begin dinner? I imagine our normal cook might be a bit preoccupied this evening."

"Sure," Jessie said through her chuckles. "And James can—" She stopped short, glancing to her left and realizing that James _wasn't_ standing beside her any longer. "Huh? James?"

"Didn't you notice?" Mariko asked, calm as always. "No, I suppose he was too quiet for anyone but myself to hear. Jake disappeared into the forest a few minutes ago."

"Damn," Jessie hissed, biting at her lip. "Hey, Mariko, can I take a rain check on that cooking date? There's something bothering him right now, and I really don't think he should be left to himself."

She shrugged. "Do as you like; it is none of my concern." Mariko pointed away and to the right, towards a path of crumpled leaves and broken twigs. "He made no attempt to mask his trail. You should be able to follow him rather easily, I think."

"Thanks." And without a backwards glance Jessie vanished into the forest as well, leaving her younger companions to argue their love lives – and finding herself _wishing_ that her life could be so uncomplicated as all that.

xxx

James stood by a nearby brook, watching the water flow across the pebbled bottom. He picked up a smooth rock, tossing it out into the stream. The stone didn't even skip once, but just fell into the waters with a soft splash. He sighed. "That's typical."

A rock whizzed by along the water's surface, skipping all the way down the creek until it came to a landing on the shore. James whirled, cursing himself. He'd been so wrapped in his own thoughts that he hadn't paid attention to what was going on around him.

Jessie stood about ten feet away, smiling. "I used to spend hours doing this. I've had a lot of practice."  
She walked up and took a seat by the shore, looking up expectantly. Glad that his error hadn't cost him his life, James sat next to her, keeping his eyes on the rippling waves.

"Something bugging you?" Jessie said after a couple minutes. He shrugged, chucking another rock into the stream. _Plunk_. Still not a single skip. "James? I _know_ something is wrong. What's going on?"

He twisted his hands together, not meeting her eyes. "I felt something after I killed that woman today."

"Must not be good, from the way you're acting," she said. "You mean, different than what you normally feel?" He nodded. "Well, what normally happens after you kill someone?"

"Nothing," came the quiet reply.

"What do you mean, 'nothing'?" Jessie asked. "You've got to feel _something._ Joy, satisfaction, disgust..."

"None of the above. Not a thing." He flicked another pebble into the water, not even bothering to try and skip this one. "I don't like it, and I don't hate it. It's just... nothing at all."

Jessie sucked in air quietly. Somehow she knew that wasn't right. "But how's that even possible? I mean, you just took somebody's _life_. How could you…?"

"It really isn't that hard." He closed his eyes, head turned upwards. "It's like… television. That's the only way I can think to describe it. It's like I'm seeing the whole world through someone else's eyes, and it doesn't really matter what happens because _I'm _not a part of it. I just happen to sort of be there… watching." He ran a hand through his hair. "I guess... no, I _know_ I retreated after I heard that you were dead. I don't think I've really _been_ here in almost five years. But then, when I met you back in Viridian..." He sighed again. "Things have just gotten more and more complicated since."

Jessie leaned in against her old partner and long-time friend. "That explains a lot of things, really. At first I couldn't believe that you'd become a bounty hunter, because I'd seen how much you hated taking lives when we were in the Rocket Camp. I mean, hell, you used to get physically _sick_ over it, sometimes." He nodded weakly at the memory. "But, if you bottled yourself up like that, it wouldn't matter because in your mind you weren't the one doing the shooting." She poked his shoulder. "I've been having a hell of a hard time pulling you out, and it's good to know I'm succeeding. I like you a lot better when you're _not_ just watching life through a tunnel."

He shook his head violently, jerking his shoulder away from her, and for the first time since their reunion Jessie heard candid, frantic fear in his words. "No, no, _no_. You don't get it." He whirled to look at her, hands held out to his sides, eyes wide, almost pleading, as if begging her to understand. "Jess, when that building fell on you, it was _the worst thing that had ever happened to me_! It felt like everything… like everything good that I'd ever managed to gather up – like everything good I might have ever _been_ _able_ to gather up – had just, just vanished, just like that." He snapped his fingers to make his point. "It _killed _me, do you understand that? I _had_ to retreat because if I hadn't, I'd have completely lost it."

He pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose, almost as if praying to some faraway deity. "I can survive on my own. I've learned how to do that. But I can't… I can't be 'James' without you, Jess. I know it's pathetic, but I just _can't_. There's nothing _of_ me without you around. And… and if you died again, I don't think I'd be able to just close up and go on surviving like I did the first time. I think even 'Jacob Carol' would disappear, this time." He looked up and met her eyes again, and Jessie was shocked at how frightened he looked. "Which is why, as soon as this is over, I'm leaving you, and I'm not coming back. I can't stay holed up when I'm around you – and I," he swallowed hard, "I _have_ to stay holed up, Jess. I know I act like I'm not afraid of anything, but I'm _terrified_ of being hurt like that again."

Jessie felt the color drain out of her face, her heart quicken, her palms clam up. Even her breathing seemed to jerk into overdrive. _'No,'_ she whispered inwardly, then louder, with more ferocity, and more panic, too. _'NO! __I can't lose him! I've worked too hard to bring him back! After everything that happened, after everything I did, I thought I could still fix it… I _have_ to fix it! I can't… I will _not_ lose him again!' _

And with that single thought in mind, everything else slipped away, and Jessie found herself speaking sharply, quickly – and without a shred of strength or pride to hold her back.

"James," she hissed, turning her grief into fury, "stop it. You think you're the only one who went through hell? Don't be stupid. You want to know what _I_ did when I woke up and found out you had deserted, that you were probably dead?" She drove her index finger into her chest, punctuating each word with another jab. "I. Broke. Down. That's right: big, tough Jessie cried like a baby. My best friend – and the only person I had ever _really_ given two shits about outside of myself – was _dead_. And I wasn't an idiot: I knew damn well that you'd deserted that camp because of me. That you were _dead_ because of _me_. I just knew it." She swallowed hard, felt herself about to cry, pushed it back again. "And I hated myself for that.

"But I toughened up. You know? Because it was what I had to do – what I owed to all the people who'd died because of my stupid decisions. I toughened up and learned how to live with myself. By myself. Traveled the cities. Got odd jobs. Even made a few friends." She frowned, finishing in a husky murmur, "But even so, I don't think I was ever really able to move _on_. My watch was wound, but it wasn't working right. Like maybe someone had stolen some of the parts.

"And then, just like that," she snapped her fingers weakly, a weak immitation of his earlier gesture, "_you_ showed up. Like a ghost. Like a miracle. And I started ticking the _right_ way again."

"Jessie, I—"

"Only it wasn't how it was supposed to be," she said darkly, her voice cracking on the last word. "My 'miracle' had buried himself so deeply that I wasn't even sure if it was really him anymore. And why?" Her hands turned into fists. "Because _I_ was in that damn building! Because_ I _said we should give the military a chance! Because I was too stupid to see – God, how _couldn't_ I have seen what that damned war would do to everyone!" She smashed her fist into the ground, gritting her teeth and staring across the stream through a veil of tears. "And now Mondo's dead and you're a shell, and no matter how hard I push and pull and yell and pray _nothing_ is going to change that, because _you're _too afraid to do anything but hide! Even after I've forced myself to be so tough for so long, _you're_ too much of a coward to even _try_ to do the same for me!" Tears spilled from her eyes even as she whirled on him, swinging out her hand and slapping him across the face. "Well you can go to hell! Jacob Carol can just fucking _go to hell_!"

She pressed her hands to her knees and moved to stand, to run, even, but a hand reached out and grabbed at her wrist, pulling her back to the ground. She whirled on him, fist half-raised for another strike, but his hands closed around her back and pulled her to him, and he buried his head in the loose hair at her neck.

"I forgive you."

That was all he said.

It was the first time anyone ever had.

Jessie felt her raised fist loosen, felt it slowly sink downwards and onto his shoulder. "Damn you," she hissed, even as all the angry energy drained from her tightened form. "How do you always know… exactly what to say to me? It's not fair, you bastard…"

Then her body tensed up for a different reason, her arms wrapped around his neck, and she couldn't do anything but cry. And somehow, through her own shaking and cursing and wailing, she was able to feel the trembling of the body against her, and the wetness against her shoulder, and she knew that he was crying with her – and she knew, knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that her James had finally and truly returned.

Which only made her cry even harder.

"Damn it," she whispered at last, bringing up her hands to wipe at the trails of water. "You don't even really blame me, do you?"

"Of course not," he told her with a wobbly chuckle. "But I knew there was no way you'd ever forgive yourself if _I_ didn't do it first."

"Idiot," she said fondly.

"Can I tell you what I honestly think, now?"

She pulled back so that she could look at him, smiling at his red-rimmed eyes. She pressed her forehead against his. "Shoot."

"I think that you had about as much control over what happened as I did. There wasn't a thing either of us could have done." He reached up with his thumb to brush the trace of a tear away from her eye. "I just wish you'd said something sooner. Carrying all of that around for so long... _I_ should be the one apologizing. I was so wrapped up in keeping myself safe that I didn't even think about what you were going through."

She mirrored his action, cleaning a speck of water from his cheek as well. "I can't blame you. If I could pull myself out like that, I probably would have, too. But I still think—"

He silenced her with a kiss, so surprising and gentle that she forgot how to argue. "It's over now. Discussion closed. And Jessie?"

"Huh?" she murmured in a daze.

"The next time you have something on your chest, please let me know. I told you already, didn't I? The only thing I'm afraid of is losing you."

"Okay," she agreed, then smiled a little hesitantly and said, "Um… I've got something on my chest."

His eyes widened. "Already? What is it?"

"I _really_ want you to do that kissing thing again."

xxx

Mariko's sharp eyes picked up the two ex-Rockets through the murky shadows the moon cast in the forest clearing. She sat on a rock, hidden by a pine tree, knowing she was safe from being spotted by anyone. She watched the couple stroll into camp, eyes picking up every detail with incredible sharpness. The pace of their walk was slow but with a spring, the sort of steps that marked a fatigue brought on by joy rather than sorrow. James had his arm slipped around Jessie's waist, and they talked quietly to each other, though even the murmur of their voices didn't reach the female assassin. James whispered something that made Jessie smile. Jessie brushed a strand of hair out of her face, replying to his comment and making him grin as well. James gave her a comforting squeeze, and Jessie leaned against him, eyes half closed in sleepy contentment. They disappeared into their tent as the light call of a Noctowl echoed through the sky.

Mariko nodded to herself. "Just as I suspected. It was bound to happen sooner or later. And yet..."

No one but the lone Noctowl and the stars above were aware of the pair of tears that pressed out of Mariko's closed eyes before slowly, slowly tracing their way down her cheeks.

* * *

**Author's Note: 9/14/08**

There's a lot to do in this author's note, so let's get right into it!

I don't usually do this, but I really have to recommend some specific music for this chapter: Jason Mraz's "Beautiful Mess" from his latest album _We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things_ may be the most perfect description of Jessie and James' relationship in _2k5_ that I have ever heard – not to mention that it's just a darn beautiful song. I want you guys to hear this one so much that I'm even posting in on my blog, _Otaku Graffiti_ (you can get to it through the "homepage" link on my ItsTheDee author's page). Even if you don't get a chance to listen to the actual song, you should at least Google the lyrics sometime. Seriously. Beautiful.

The profile this time around is really short and a little on the sparse side, but that's because of the super-sized **bonus story **that Jessie decided to throw at me last week. It'll give you all the extra details about her wartime history, though perhaps not in the format you'd be expecting. _(smiles mysteriously)_

**Jessie Smitt**

**The Basics**  
-I went off the general U.S. age assumption – seventeen during the series – which makes Jessie twenty-four years old.  
-Since Jessie had essentially reached physical maturity by the beginning of the TV series, she hasn't changed much. She's a little softer around the edges, and she has a few burn scars – such as the thin one along her cheek – that she earned during her brush with death during her Rocket Camp days. She lost a lot of her hair after the accident that nearly killed her, and only grew it back out to about the middle of her back. She wears it straight now, and usually wears it up either in a bun or a half-ponytail. Incidentally, I marked her as quite tall during the series (about 5'10") and she hasn't grown since then.  
-I don't think it's ever mentioned in this 'fic, but Jessie's last name is "Smitt." It was another one of those last names that was sort of floating around the fanfiction community at the time that I wrote this, so I went with it.  
-Right before the war began, Team Rocket was at last brought down by the police. With the exception of a clever few, the members were systematically rounded up and thrown into prison. As a result, Jessie spent the first few months of the war in a jail cell, awaiting trial and sentence.

**Wartime History**  
-So… I'm actually not going to talk much about her wartime history, because the bonus story in this chapter covers the important points. There are a couple of little side stories in my head (such as the six months she spent working in Saffron, where she made good friends with a pair of girls named Ginny and Katie – don't ask me why I've thought about this), but none of them are particularly essential.  
-I will talk about the Rocket Camp briefly, though: Given the choice between prison and working with the self-defense force, Jessie chose the army for herself and her partners. She and James were initially hostile towards Butch and Cassidy, but when they wound up sharing a bunk together they learned how to deal with each other. And, after saving one another's lives during the battles, they soon became close friends. Besides those two, Jessie was also very close with Mondo and another young Rocket named Laura (all of this is detailed in my "published" prequel story, _The Rocket Camp_, by the way).

**Relationships**  
- Well, Jessie's pretty much told us her thoughts on James, hasn't she? (hehe) I think it is important to note, though, that she wasn't lying to Misty when she said that she hadn't thought about James in a "romantic way" when they were younger. To tell the truth, even though she's been _attracted_ to him since they reunited in Viridian, I don't think she realized that she cared for him as a lover (and not just as a friend) until the moment he kissed her. As she told Misty, she was trying very hard to deal in "concrete reality," and so anytime she'd start to entertain thoughts about James, she'd quickly push them away and tell herself, "Well, it's not like he's interested anyway, so what's the point in thinking about it?" Of course, _that_ little problem was remedied quite nicely in this chapter, I think. _(smile)_  
-There are other relationships I could talk about… but really, I'll just let the bonus story speak for me. It's more interesting than a random essay anyway.

**General Ramblings**  
I always liked Jessie all right in the original series, but she's actually one of my favorite characters in _2k5_. Even now I'm really pleased with the way I developed her in this fic, so that she's still this very tough, outspoken woman, but at the same time she's a lot more generous towards others and willing to compromise. It makes her all around a likeable person, and in some cases downright admirable. I think the reason she's been able to develop that way is because during the years of the war, Jessie finally came to (a) like herself, and (b) be honest with herself. You'll see this happening a little in the bonus story, so I won't talk about it too much here, but I guess the reason I'm so pleased with it is because it doesn't feel so much like she _changed_ as she just finally grew up. Which she did, really.

Jessie's developed a sort of rough kindness to her, but she will probably never be a "gentle" person. That's one of the things I like best about her, though. She has this way of always marching forward as if daring anyone to try and stop her. It's that quality that I think tends to draw people towards her, and makes her a natural leader (she and Gary are a lot alike, actually, which is probably why they get along so well). She's loath to share her burdens with anyone these days, so I think it's definitely a good thing that she and James were able to get everything out in the open in this chapter. _(smile)_

And now for the bonus story! I like to use these stories as a way to play with narration and test out some different writing styles, so get ready for something kind of fun this time around. I'm curious to see what people think, too, so as usual feel free to drop me a review or PM.

Oh, and for those who don't know… **Mondo** was a canon character who only appears in a Japanese CD Drama. He's essentially Jessie and James' assistant – he brings them food, takes care of their equipment, and so on. All-in-all, he's depicted as an incredibly sweet guy, about three years younger than J & J, and with a big crush on Jessie. I mention all this because he appears in the following story, and I didn't want anyone to be too terribly confused.

And we're finally ready for the bonus material! Thanks so much for reading, and on to…

* * *

**Bonus: "True Fable"**

_**Prologue – "Tell Me a Story"  
**_"Hey," Jessie murmured, propping herself up on one elbow, "I was curious about something."

The half-asleep form at her side opened one eye partway, peering out through a thin layer of bangs. "Mm?"

"You said earlier that you couldn't be 'James' when you weren't with me," she reminded him. "Well, you're with me now – in a whole mess of ways." She poked at his bare chest and he chuckled. "So… I mean, I was wondering: what does that make you now? You couldn't have just rewound yourself to five years ago, to the moment we split up, could you?"

He shook his head. "It's not like that. It's more like…" He chewed thoughtfully on his lip for a moment, then sat up, leaning out of the sleeping bag and setting a finger to the earth beneath their tent. "There were three parts to my life. The first ten years," he drew a circle in the dirt, "the next ten years," he drew another circle halfway overlapping the first, "and the last five years," he drew a final circle, so that all three merged into one small oval at the very center.

Jessie grinned, leaning over his shoulder and pointing at the circles one at a time. "Or in other words: Jessebelle, Jessie, and Mariko."

"That's one way to look at it," he admitted. "Anyway, this is where I was when we separated," he pointed to a spot where the first and second circles joined together, "and this is where I was when you met me in Viridian." He pointed to the outer edge of the third circle before slowly dragging his finger inward, until it landed on the very center, where all the circles overlapped. "And this is where I am now."

"Surrounded by the Jessie circle," she said teasingly, wrapping her arms around his chest.

He nodded. "It's not that 'Jacob Carol,' or 'James of Team Rocket,' or even that runaway boy you met at Pokemon Tech disappeared. They just… found someplace comfortable, where they could all be together."

"And are _you_ comfortable with that?" she asked. "With still having that assassin in you?"

"To be honest, I don't think I've ever been happier with myself than I am right now," he told her. "And that's not just because there's a very beautiful, very naked woman pressed against me." Jessie chuckled and snuggled even closer. "But everything just seems so… balanced now. As if I've finally got control over my own future. As if I can _handle_ having control over my own future. For the first time in my life, I'm confident, you know? I mean, _really_ confident. I guess I'll have to thank Mariko for that. Because of her, I…"

He trailed off, so she pressed, "You what?"

"Nothing. Just something stupid from when I was a kid."

"Come on…"

Jessie poked him between the shoulder blades, though he didn't take much prodding. He always _had_ had a hard time turning her down, she thought with a grin. "I was just going to say that, because of her…" he hesitated, then finished in a quiet, embarrassed tone, "I can finally be the kind of man you can be proud of."

She wasn't sure what to say to that, so she didn't say anything for a moment. After some thought, though, she just kissed him beneath his ear and said, "Thanks. For wanting to do all that for me, I mean."

He turned back to her, and they didn't say much for another hour or so. When they did, it was James who began the conversation, and Jessie who was half-asleep this time. "What about you?"

"Mm?"

"You know what happened to me while we were apart, but I don't know anything about what _you've_ been up to."

"You never asked," she murmured.

"Before, you never seemed like you wanted to talk about it."

"But I do now?"

"Well, the story has a happy ending, now. Those always were the only kinds of stories that you liked."

"The story's not over yet," she reminded him. "There's still surviving these assassins, and getting through to the end of this war, not to mention our first couple's spat, which I just know will end in us holding each other at gunpoint…"

James laughed. "As much as I'd love to hear how that turns out, you're avoiding my question. Unless you don't want to talk about it, of course."

"Oh…" Jessie frowned. "No. It's fine. There's some stuff I've been wanting to tell you anyway, only you never seemed… I dunno, _warm_ enough for it. And you need to be sort of warm for this, because if you don't react the right way, it'll piss me off pretty badly. I might just haul off and deck you again."

"I'll take my chances."

She sighed. "Okay. A story with a happy ending, huh…?"

So this is what she told him. It was not exactly the way she told it _to_ him, but it was the way she would have told it, if she had been any good at storytelling; if she had known how to make herself the heroine of her own fairy tale, her own "happily ever after" that she was still too cynical to believe.

It went like this.

_**Book One – "The Princess"**_  
Once upon a time, there was a little girl who thought she was a princess. She was not a real princess, of course – she was quite common, in fact, and rather poor, too – but once when she was very small she had gone with her mother to a party, and many grown-ups had smiled at her and called her "the little Rocket princess," and so she came to believe it was true.

Now this little girl had no father, but she loved her mother very much, and always stayed up late waiting for her to come home from her job. She would kiss the little girl on the head and call her "the little Rocket princess," and promise her all sorts of treasures. This was the little girl's favorite part of the day, and she would go to bed dreaming of her palace, which she knew must be very grand. And she would think of all the things her and her mother would do when they got to that palace, and all the delicious foods they would eat and all the games they would play, and how her mother would never have to be gone all day at her job ever again. She thought all this, which was why she never fell asleep until her mother came home, no matter how late.

But one day, her mother did not come home. The neighbors said that they were "very sad" for her, and they patted her head and gave her sweets, but she thought they were being silly. Surely her mother had just gone ahead to the palace, and once it was finished she would come back and take the little girl with her! Didn't everyone know that? So the little girl waited for her mother. She waited and she waited, but her mother never came back again.

(_"You don't have to tell me all this if you don't want to," James said. "I remember it."_

"_Yes, but I tell it differently now than I used to," she explained. "I think the difference is important." He nodded, so she went on.)_

Once the neighbors were finished patting her on the head, they sent her to an orphanage high up in the mountains. They had even less money than the little girl and her mother, which made them very poor indeed, and the little girl soon found herself hungry every day, and wearing dresses until they were nothing but patches. The little girl thought, "This is what has happened: Someone very bad has taken my mother, and they have stolen my kingdom, and now they are making everyone believe that I am not a princess at all, but just a poor little girl with no parents. But since I _am_ a princess, this is what I shall do: I shall find a prince, and he will rescue me and defeat my enemies. Then the two of us will get married and rule my kingdom together, and it will be happily ever after. Yes," she thought, quite proud of herself. "That is exactly what will happen."

So the little girl did her best to go on She ate snow to keep herself from feeling hungry, and she made friends with a wild Ekans to keep herself from feeling lonely, and she kept searching for a prince to help her. However, no princes ever came to her very poor orphanage in the mountains. "This will never do," the little girl thought, and almost gave up. But then, when she was ten years old, the orphanage sent her to a very special school, and it was there that she met her first real prince. He was very rich, but very spoiled, and not at all brave or clever. "He is not very princely," she thought, "but he is kind and he treats me the way a princess ought to be treated. So I shall be his friend, and I shall have to protect him instead, and keep on looking for the prince who will protect _me_."

So she did, and for many years she and the unprincely prince traveled together, and they went through many good and bad times. But those are all stories that have been told before, and we need not tell them here again.

_("Aw," James said, a hint of his old whine sneaking playfully into his voice. "But this is my favorite part."_

"_It's your fault for making me so tired," Jessie shot back, and continued.)_

Now the little girl – who was not really little at all anymore – found that she could be happy with her foolish prince. But he was not the _proper _prince, she thought, and so she kept searching for the proper one. She met many boys, but none of them were princes, and many were very unkind. Every time that she thought she could love one, she would give him the only treasure she had left, but he would merely take it from her and disappear. This made her sad, and then this made her angry, and she thought, "There are no princes left in the entire world, so I shall simply have to do everything on my own. There is nothing else for it."

But doing everything turned out to be much more difficult that she had thought. It made her make mistakes, which only made her angrier. The girl blamed her unprincely prince, who was still very kind but very foolish, and who could not do anything without her. She became harsh with him, but she still protected him, for she thought, "He will just mess it up on his own." So the unprincely prince never learned anything.

One day when they were not quite children anymore, they were hungry and tried to steal, and they were caught. The girl thought that surely her luck had all run out, until a man walked into her dungeon cell. He looked down at her from what seemed to be a very tall height, and he said, "You're Miyamoto's girl, aren't you?"

She could not believe it! At last, someone who knew of her mother!

The girl looked at him carefully, and found that she was afraid. "He is not a prince," she thought, "but rather a great and terrible king. But he is strong, strong enough that he will take me away from here and give me a new life if I promise to serve him. And if I am a good servant, perhaps he will make me a princess again."

This seemed like a very good idea, so she took her foolish prince and she went with the king, who gave her the uniform of his subjects, and two other friends whom she liked very much, though perhaps not as much as her unprincely prince. He asked them to do bad things to make him rich, and the girl did her best, and she had many adventures. But these, too, are all stories that have been heard before, and so we need not tell them here again.

After some years of trying, and some years of failing, the girl thought, "I am no good at serving this king. No matter how hard I try, my luck is all bad, and my foolish friends are no help at all. I am quite sure he will never make me a princess. But maybe he will remember my mother kindly, and will not turn me away from his kingdom until I have found some place where I can belong."

But before the girl could find that place, the people of the land found out about her king's villainous deeds, and so they sent in their knights. He was defeated, and all of his servants were taken with him to the dungeons. The girl thought, "Ah, I will never find my kingdom now!" and mourned her fate. She was so busy mourning her fate that she did not pay any attention when the rest of the world's kingdoms began fighting. She knew almost nothing about the Great War until the knight walked into her dungeon, looked at her and her friends, and said, "We will give you freedom if you will fight for us."

Since they could not manage without her, the girl's friends let her choose. She was so happy to hear the word "freedom," and even happier to think, "Now my friends and I shall be able to stay together, for while they are not very useful, I would miss them if they were to leave." So she agreed to join the Great War, and fight to keep her kingdom safe.

The story of war is an old story, one that does not change very much at all no matter the time or the place. So it is not necessary to tell of the girl's surprise when she learned that fighting meant not only hurting others, but also being hurt yourself. Nor is it necessary to explain her sadness when she began to lose her friends in these fights, nor her fear when she thought that she, too, might be lost. But it is necessary to say that one day, after she had fought in many battles and become a mighty warrior, the girl was sent on an Important Mission. Only the best warriors could go on this mission, and so she was separated from her unprincely prince, who was not a very good warrior at all. He was afraid for her, so she said, "Never fear. I will do many great things in battle, and when I return we will celebrate," though she was not sure at all if this was true. "But I cannot let him worry," she thought, "For he is not very strong. Still, he is kind and treats me as a princess ought to be treated, and so I must protect him like always."

Her mission, which she thought would be very hard no matter what, turned out to be impossible. She lost many friends, and in the end she was trapped beneath the fallen walls of a great fortress. She was terribly hurt, and could not escape, and so she thought, "This is the end," and fell into a deep sleep.

The girl slept for days and days. When she at last awoke, she found that she had been saved by a kind doctor and her family. Her injuries were very serious, and so the doctor promised that she would protect the girl until she was well again. Even though she was in great pain, the girl was happy, and thought, "I must find a way to tell the others that I am all right. Especially my foolish prince, who will never manage without me."

But bad news travels fast, and good news travels not at all. Before the girl was even strong enough to hold her head up from her pillow, she learned that her unprincely prince had run away from the war. She learned that the knights had ordered that her unprincely prince be hunted for his crime. Worse, she learned that all of this had happened days ago, right after the battle that had caused her so much harm.

"He must have run after he learned I was gone," she thought. "Only I am not gone at all. Instead, _he_ is the one who is gone, for those hunters have surely found him by now." The girl began to cry. "He was not even a prince at all, for all the princes left the world long ago, yet he was my dearest friend just the same, and I loved him very much. But it is too late now. He is gone forever, and it is all my fault."

And as the girl's tears fell like rain from the skies, she felt a great weight settle upon her chest. It made it hard for her to breathe, and caused her much worse pain than her injuries, which had been very terrible indeed. She thought that she would like to escape this, and wished that she could forget how to be alive. For she saw now that there were not only no princes, but that there had never been any from the beginning. And she saw that there were no white horses, and no castle, and no fairy tale or happily ever after, and that there was certainly no princess. There had never been a princess at all. There was just a very selfish girl who had killed her best friend.

_**Book Two – "The Shadows"**_  
Once upon a time there was a girl who was pressed down so tightly that she began to suffocate. She could not breathe, and so she began to spend her days sleeping in nightmares. But the nightmares made her ill, and the illness made her great injuries worse. Her doctor thought, "Ah, we may lose her, though she fought so hard before," but the girl simply thought, "It is just as well," for she had learned the fate of her unprincely prince, and soon after learned the fate of her other friends, who had been taken by surprise and lost to the enemy. And she thought, "It is too much for me, though I have fought through so much before." The weight grew heavier, and the girl grew weaker, and it seemed that surely even the nightmares would end soon, and that she would go to the place where her mother had gone long ago.

_(The arms encircling her waist tightened their hold. "Jess, don't."_

"_It's okay," she said, and was surprised at how strong she sounded – and how strong she still felt. "I can talk about this part. Besides, it's the important part – the part I've been wanting to tell you since we met in Viridian. About why I'm still alive – and who I've got to thank for that."_

"_Who _we've_ got to thank for that," he corrected quietly._

_She still wasn't sure how to react when he said things like that, so even though she smiled she didn't say anything in reply, but instead went back to her story.) _

Until one day, not long after she learned of her friends' tragic end, a voice cut through her darkness.

"Holy… Jessie, is that you?"

She thought she was dreaming of her lost ones, and so she said nothing. But when the voice spoke again she could not ignore it anymore. "When I look at it," she thought miserably, "it will be nothing but my imagination, and it will hurt very much. But at least I will not have to listen to the ghosts anymore." So she opened her eyes and broke through the fog, turning towards the voice. She gazed upon a small cot next to her own, and into a boy's face whose left half was entirely covered in bandages. Yet the hair and the eye on the other side were very familiar, and for the first time since her terrible battle, the girl felt something that she believed was called "hope."

"Mondo!"

_(James gasped beside her. "Y-you mean he… but where… and you never told me…!"_

"_Shh," she said, squeezing his hand. "You'll understand when I'm done.")_

Her last friend rejoiced at the sound of her voice, and she at his, and though she feared his answer, still she asked, "Tell me your tale," for she had not heard the details of the battle that had taken everyone but him.

He told her of the surprise attack, though he had little to share, for he had seen almost as little of it as she had. "I was on guard duty," he said without reservation, and she thought how strange it was to hear someone speak so easily about something so sad, "and they came out of nowhere. Shot me right away." He pointed to the bandages that encompassed his face. "There. They must've blown about half my face off, but I guess they didn't think that was good enough, because they shot me in the stomach, too. Don't know _how_ I survived it, to be honest. Maybe I just needed to live long enough to tell you everything that happened."

The boy told her of her unprincely prince, and of the horrid battles that came during her deep sleep. She remembered the weight in her chest, yet she found that she could forget it when she looked to her last friend. The two spoke like warriors who have met after a lost war, seeking to console as well as to be consoled. As they shared grief, the girl became aware that the boy was in a perilous state, for his injuries were very grave indeed. It seemed that he did not think he would live long. She thought that he might be afraid, so she said, "It is all right, for I doubt that I shall live long, either."

"No," he said with such confidence. "You'll survive. You're the strongest out of all of us."

She thought to laugh, but she did not think she could manage without tears.

Weakness soon sent them both to sleep, and the girl doubted very much that she would ever speak to her last friend again. Yet when she awoke the next day he was there again, and again they spoke, and the girl felt a little of her "hope" again. The days became weeks, which became months, and still they both survived, for the girl's injuries were not so grave that she could not heal, and the boy's will was such that he would not allow himself to die. He became friends with the doctor and her husband, and especially with their daughter, and the girl watched in amazement as his impossible life became more and more possible.

Before long, the boy's bandages were removed, and the woman and the doctor's family were met with a truly pitiable sight. The boy's body had not done as well as his spirit, it seemed, for where an eye had been there was nothing but a clear white marble, and where half a mouth had been there was nothing but a thin line, and where a cheek had been there was nothing but a shallow ditch. The girl thought sadly, "Ah, surely now he will fall as well."

But when the boy looked into the mirror, he merely smiled his half of a grin and said, "Gorgeous. And here I thought I might need some plastic surgery."

Though he had seen his wretched condition, still he continued to smile. Though he fought through great pain every day, still he pushed forward regardless. Everyone thought it was most impressive. The girl found that she admired her last friend very much, but that she was angry with him, too, for he was not sad about what had happened, and he was not suffering because of what had happened. She thought, "It is very cruel of him to forget so easily. It is also very unfair," she added in a quiet part of herself, "that only I should suffer."

Though the boy's presence allowed the girl to breathe, still she could feel the weight pressing into her chest. Worse, she began to notice that the weight, when it had been at its heaviest, had created a very tiny hole inside her. It grew wider as her body became stronger, until one day she could no longer ignore it. So she faced it, and she heard her lost friends shouting to her, asking to know why she had lived and they had not. And she saw the face of her unprincely prince, now pale and stained with blood. She could not erase the images, and she could not drown out the voices, and so with each day they grew worse. The girl thought that perhaps she was going mad, and this frightened her very much. She thought, "This is something I cannot bear. I must find a way to end it, or else it will swallow me completely."

Many weeks later, after the hole had grown so large that she could hardly bear to even speak to her last friend anymore, the girl healed enough that she could walk again. She thought, "Now is the time, for if I wait any longer it will be too late." So the girl waited until the doctor and her family had left the house for the day, and her last friend was fast asleep, and then she sneaked from her room and into the family's bedroom. The husband's pistol was in a drawer, just as she had thought. Her hands shook, but she took the weapon just the same. Her fingers touched the trigger.

And again, a voice cut through her fog, and when she turned she found the boy standing on trembling legs in the doorway. His eyes burned, and the girl thought, "He must have guessed at this long ago. There is no doubt that he is upset, yet I cannot care anymore. There is simply nothing else for it." She told him as much, and when he tried to fight her with words, she felt her anger rise, and she shrieked at him, quite forgetting herself. But then she said, "For my foolish prince is gone, and they will not leave me at peace," and she felt the boy become very cold across from her. She tried to say more, but the boy spoke before she could finish, and he spoke with such strength that she could not help but listen. The words he gave her were harsh words, and they were not at all the words one should speak to a heroine in a story, but then she had already known that she was no heroine, and that this was no proper story.

This is what he told her.

"Hey Jessie, if we're gonna start being honest with each other, then how 'bout if I cut through the bullshit? I know you lost friends – they were my friends, too – but that isn't why you're doing this. We're Rockets, Jess, we don't shrivel up and die that easily. That's the reason Giovanni picked who he did. He chose fighters: you, me, Cass, Butch, and yes, even James. We all went up against a hell of a lot of steep odds and managed to come out alive. Maybe not on top, but alive.

"There's only one thing in the world that can beat each of us, and that's ourselves. Butch's bravery, Cassidy's vengeance, James' soft heart. That got them killed in the end, and the same thing's going to happen to you if you don't figure out a way to fight it. Yeah, you're depressed about James and others, but that's not why you wanna run away. You aren't trying to kill yourself so you can join James, you're trying to kill yourself to get rid of that guilt, because _you_ can't stand feeling guilty. I know you, Jess, and I've seen you point fingers at everyone but yourself. Only now there's no one else to condemn, so you're stuck with the full load and it sucks.

"You're a very tough person, and I've always respected you for that. But you're selfish too, and when James died it was a slap in the face because the one person you loved other than yourself was gone. The one person who you could always lay any blame or any problems on, and who'd keep them without much complaint… the one person who was there to make sure you didn't fall on your ass when you screwed up… is gone. And it hurts like hell, doesn't it? 'Cause when he died not only did you lose your best friend, but you lost the ability to heap your guilt on somebody else.

"Now I'm not saying that you're the reason James is dead, and I'm not saying you aren't, either. It doesn't really matter either way. The point is, everything happened the way it did, and everything shattered the way it did, and it was awful and it's _still_ awful and it's not going to get a whole hell of a lot better anytime soon. I know that, Jess. I mean, you think I _like_ fighting day-in and day-out through this" – and here the boy pointed to first his broken body and then his ruined face – "kind of pain, the kind of pain where some days I can't even get out of bed because it hurts so much? You think I_ like_ the way you and the others can barely stand to look at me? You think… d'you actually think that I _like_ knowing that I get to keep living as a circus freak while my friends lie in a graveyard somewhere?

"Of course not! I _hate_ it, Jess! I hate it, and it sucks, and it's probably not going to _stop_ sucking for a long, long time. But even so… even so, we've got to push through it. We've _got_ to, because if we don't, then what the hell was the point? What was the point of all their goodness and all their sacrifices and all their suffering if there isn't anyone around to remember it and love them for it? If the ones who're left don't keep on living… if we don't do our best to keep on living, then… then how can we ever face the ones who didn't _have_ that choice?"

The boy's strength failed him and he sank to the floor, where he pressed his face into his sleeves and wept. The girl quite forgot about her escape, and instead crossed the room to hold the boy in her arms. She wrapped herself around the boy's shaking body, and he wrapped himself around the girl's shaking spirit, and they cried for the lost ones, as that was their duty.

The two sat weeping upon the floor for a very long time. But when they finally rose as one, they said nothing about what had happened. The girl simply put the weapon back where it should be, and then she took the boy by the arm and led him back to their room, for he was very weak and could not walk the rest of the way on his own. The girl thought, "I have been terribly wrong, and it has taken my last friend, who I thought did not care very much at all, to show me the way things are. And now that I see that, I know what I must do."

So from that day on the girl, who was truly no longer a girl but a woman, began to walk forward once again.

_**Book Three – "The Princes"**_  
Once upon a time there was a woman who had fallen down, but had found a way to stand again and continue on her way. It was a very hard path, but she found her old strength, and then she became stronger. She found that she could be responsible for what she did or did not do, and she found that she could be happier with herself and with other people because of it. She tucked her sadness into the corner of a very high shelf, and did not look at it anymore. The woman did not tuck away the memories, though, but instead kept them close to her. It still hurt very much, but she told herself, "I will simply have to push forward," and slowly it became a little less painful.

Eventually the woman left the house of the doctor to seek a life of her own. She left the boy there, as he was still very weak, and so continued along her path alone. The years passed, and the woman visited a great many places and had a great many adventures. She took on many exciting jobs, and she met many interesting people. Some became her friends, and some became her lovers, and still one nearly became her prince. He was not a real prince, of course, for there had never been any real princes at all, but still he was very like a proper prince, and she found that he loved her very much. She thought to love him in return, but by then she had realized that she was not at all like a proper princess, who was to be rescued, and protected, and sheltered for all her days. "This," she thought, "is all very nice, but it is not for me. So I cannot love him after all." And the woman thought it very strange just how much one's "happily ever after" could change over time.

Now in the middle of these passing years she received an urgent message from the doctor who had saved her life. She returned to the house where she had become an adult, and there she found a very sad sight waiting for her.

"Mondo?"

Her last friend, who had become a man in her absence, was so weak that he could not lift his head when she came through the door. He did look to her, though, and even through an eye that was filled with clouds he was able to know her and to smile.

_("What happened to him?" James asked quietly, hesitant to interrupt. "Was it the virus, or…?"_

_Jessie shook her head. "Nothing like that. It's just that he'd been in constant pain for over two years, and he was always fighting some kind of health problem because of that shot to the stomach. Tori," she said, referring to the doctor's daughter, "told me that his body just finally gave out. She said it was a miracle that he'd survived as long as he had."_

_James rubbed at Jessie's shoulder, though she felt that he did it more to comfort himself than her. "I'd never realized how strong Mondo was."_

"_Stronger than anyone," she murmured, as if repeating a memory. "There's a little bit more…"_

"_Go ahead."_

_And she did.)_

The doctor's daughter sat on one side of the man's bed, so the woman sat on the other. She took the man's frail hand in her own, and she stroked it. Though they said nothing for a very long time, their eyes did not stray from one another's for even a single instant. The man's breathing became shallow, and then it became an effort, but still the woman could find no words that needed saying. It was as if they could understand and share everything in that single gaze.

But then, just as his eye began to close, the dying man said, "I hope they'll forgive me."

The woman did not understand his words, so she replied, "There's nothing to forgive. You did your best to keep living. It's not your fault."

"No," he said. "Not for that. For breaking my promise." Again she did not understand, but he went on. "I've made you sad," he said. "And we promised that we would never do anything to make you sad."

"We?"

"James, Meowth, and me," said the man, though he had to gasp for breath just to say it. "You always looked out for us. You were hard on us, but you still loved us, and we loved you, too. You were the one we looked to. You were the one we relied on. Even though you had been hurt more than anyone, still you were strong enough to manage for us all. So we thought that, at least, we could protect you from being hurt anymore. Because none of us could ever stand to see you sad."

And hearing his words, the woman began to cry, for she understood now that she had been wrong all along. It was true that she had not been a proper princess, and it was true that she had never known a proper prince. Yet she had known three very improper princes, and they had loved her very much. And because of them, because of their loyalty, and their generosity, and their kindness, she had been able to learn loyalty and generosity and kindness. She had been able to protect and to be protected. She had been able to love.

Because of her improper princes, slowly, she had been able to become their improper princess.

"Will you forgive me?" her last friend asked. "For leaving you alone?"

"I will," she promised. "I will be alone, and it will be very sad, but because of you I will push forward just the same. I will go on living, and I will remember you for as long as I live. You, who were my noblest prince."

His gasping mouth formed a weak smile, and he breathed, "Miss Jessie, Miss Jessie," as if the years and sorrows had melted away, leaving them as they had been in their foolish childhoods. "Stronger than anyone. Our beautiful Rocket Princess."

She held his hand tighter even as his grip became looser, and she did not release it until she was certain that his eyes would not open again. And when she was certain she stood from the bed, and she left the little room where her last friend would not rise again. She walked very quickly out of the house, and she did not come back until much later that evening, after she had wept many hours for her final prince. But in the end she returned, and she watched as her last friend was laid to rest, and she thought, "Once more, I know exactly what I must do.

"I must live the rest of my years with my young prince's generosity, and with my cat prince's loyalty, and with my foolish prince's kindness. I must live as an improper princess ought to live, protecting and being protected, saving and being saved. I must push forward, and I must remember them all. As the one who is left, it is my single greatest duty to the world."

The years continued to pass, and the improper princess did her best to live out her promises. She was not always perfect, and she made a great many mistakes along the way, but that is exactly why she was "improper." And one day, after she had visited the graves of all of her many friends, she found herself on the path to a city. Along the way, she met her unprincely prince whom she had thought was gone forever, and she found that she still loved him very much. She thought that perhaps her story had found its ending, but her unprincely prince was not at all who he had been. The improper princess did not give up, though, but instead thought, "It is not how it should be, but it is more than I had hoped. What's more, I still love him very much. So I shall push forward even so, and we shall see what becomes of us."

And that is exactly what they did.

_**Epilogue – "An Improper Ever After"**_  
"And here we are," Jessie finished quietly.

"You're so much stronger than me," James murmured. "Every time I think I'm catching up, you always find a way to outdistance me again."

"And Mondo was even stronger than that."

"Maybe not stronger," he told her. "But I think he was the best of us. He was the only one without a shred of selfishness. It felt like he did everything for somebody else."

"That's because he did," she whispered.

James was silent for a moment. Then, he asked, "When this is over, can we go visit them? Butch, and Cassidy, and Mondo, too? I never… as terrible as it sounds, I never have."

She nodded. "We will. We'll visit their graves one at a time, and we'll tell them everything that's happened." Jessie felt her eyes well with tears, and for once she didn't try to blink them away. "D'you think they'll be happy for us? Even though we don't deserve to be the ones who get the second chance?"

"They will be," he assured her. "Because they loved us both. So even if we don't deserve it, they'd want our story to be a happy one, I think."

Jessie smiled a little sarcastically. "_And They Lived Happily Ever After_, huh?"

"Well, maybe not 'ever after,'" he said. "There _is_ that first couple's spat you were talking about." She chuckled, and he went on. "There'll always be problems, and there'll always be imperfections. We're not 'proper' people, you and me, so we're bound to get into trouble now and again. But we'll keep living, and I think we'll live happily, for the most part." He hugged her tighter. "There's a lot of future left for us, Jess. So let's not try to write a conclusion for this story just yet."

"But when we tell them about this," she said, "how're we going to end it?"

He kissed her neck. "We won't make it an ending," he told her. "We'll make it a promise."

Jessie thought about that for a minute, her eyebrows curled together in a puzzled frown. But then she smiled slowly, her mouth forming the words at the same time that James did, so that they were speaking as one to the darkness, and to their friends, and to the blank pages laid out before them:

"_To Be Continued._"


	11. Final Steps

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Pokemon Universe, otherwise you'd be able to hear my long-winded commentaries on a DVD Special Features page instead of just reading them tagged on to the ends of fanfic chapters (but this is probably a good thing). The story is mine, as are the couple of original characters.

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and violence.

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Final Steps  
**The next day arrived crisp and clear, the sun managing to peak through the boughs of the pine trees and reach the travelers' camp. Brock was up early as usual, fixing breakfast. Slowly but surely the others joined him outside, stretching sleepily and taking in the shimmering forest.

"What a beautiful day," Misty remarked, taking a seat next to the cook. He handed her a plate full of food. She took a bite, sighing. "It's a shame we're being hunted by those assassins, otherwise life'd be just about perfect."

Gary grabbed his own helping of Brock's meal. "Maybe Mariko and James'll just kill 'em all today, and we won't have to worry about it. Sound like a plan?"

Misty shuddered. "Killing is wrong."

"Tell that to the generals," Tracey said dryly, chewing slowly and taking in the movements of the rest of the group. He noticed that Mariko had been unusually silent that morning, as had Jessie and James. The old partners in crime sat a little bit away from the others, but didn't seem to be talking about anything in particular. _'They look like they didn't get much sleep last night… but neither seems particularly upset about that. In fact, they look like they're about to burst at the seams with happiness.' _Remembering their disappearance the evening before, Tracey wondered – and correctly guessed at – what had happened between them.

Everyone finished their meals quickly, intent on completing as many miles as they could before the bounty hunters made another attack. Gary had a brief struggle with gravity, then rose slowly, surprised that Tracey hadn't offered him the always-ignored helping hand up. Now that the ex-pilot thought about it, he'd been pretty much left to his own devices for the past couple days. Hiding a smile behind his hand and feigning a yawn, he decided his friend had finally figured out the message that Gary had been sending him the past months: 'Thanks but no thanks, I can handle it.'

The morning passed without any problems, leaving some of the party members thinking that Karl had given up after losing two of his gang. Mariko and the cluster of war veterans knew better, though; Karl was just biding his time.

"Luring people into a false sense of security is one hell of an old trick," Gary remarked with a yawn. "It's been since, what? Cave man days or something?"

"Don't the assassins have any new tricks?" Tracey asked Mariko idly. Though both knew perfectly well their lives were in danger, they hardly seemed worried about it.

Mariko's ears pricked at a noise. She turned sharply and shot into a thick bush. There was a tortured scream, then silence. "Hitting someone hiding in foliage is a trick of my own. Such a pity you can't see them very well - I can't aim for an exact spot and it tends to be much more painful on my enemy's part." She explained this calmly, even though the remaining three bounty hunters were obviously surrounding them. She sighed. "Karl, this is getting rather monotonous. Why don't you stop sending your cronies out and do the dirty work on your own?"

A laser shot whipped past Mariko. She tilted her head slightly, not even blinking as the bolt whipped a fraction of an inch away from her ear. A sneering voice said from the shrubs, "It's much more fun wearing you down before going in for the kill, Midnight."

"As I expected. Very well, then. Jake!" she barked, looking to the younger assassin. "Watch our backs. I'll handle anyone who tries to come from this way." She tossed Jessie one of her small guns, set on Level Five. "Protect yourself."

A nasty snicker came from the wooded area to Mariko's left. A female voice spoke. "You sure you can trust the Rookie with such a big job? I thought he was only good at bein' your boy-toy."

James' eyes narrowed and he flushed angrily. Mariko's voice remained cool as ever. "If we are quite finished with the childish retorts?"

Another blast flew out of nowhere - Karl had changed position during the exchange. Mariko had to dart to the side in a less than dignified manner to avoid it. She grabbed her abdomen in the process, a painful reminder of James' laser shot from a few days ago, but didn't let it slow her down as she slipped behind a nearby tree for cover, eyes calm even as shots rained around her. With Jessie at his back and his gun pointed at the forest, James followed suit, shouting to the rest of his companions, "Gary! Tracey! Get the others out of the way!"

The veterans didn't even need the command – they were already bobbing towards the far side of the path and the forest beyond it, sheltering Brock and Ash as the other two young men worked to shelter Misty, who could do nothing but squeeze her eyes shut and press her hands to her ears in a desperate attempt to block out the sounds of battle and death that raged around them. Brock set a comforting hand to her shoulder, though he didn't have long to keep it there as Tracey grabbed his arm and jerked him back behind a cluster of thick bushes, sending them all toppling to the ground. Gary plopped down soon after, a wild glint in his eyes. "Just like in Ria Trau, huh Trace?"

"Yeah," he agreed, grabbing Ash's head and practically slamming it back down behind the bushes when the League Champ attempted to get a look at the action. "I hated it there, too."

Gary pointed towards the road, and Tracey nodded, keeping his eyes on the others while his friend slithered forward a few feet to check on the situation – and maybe find a fallen laser gun in the proess. He peered through the brush at the trio of fighters, grinning grimly as another of Mariko's shots blasted through a nearby assassin. The man's gun clattered to the road, rolling before pausing just a foot or so from Gary's hideout. His eyes narrowed and he reached a hand forward, still keeping his gaze on the battle.

A woman sneaked out of the brush, gun pointed at James. Mariko and Jessie both aimed for her, firing simultaneously. The twin guns clicked feebly. _'Did their charges max out?' _Gary wondered, hand now darting for the nearby weapon, but knowing he wouldn't make it quite in time.

James saw the whole thing out of the corner of his eye… and smiled as the enemy's gun clicked as well. The woman's eyes widened and she dashed for the cover of the forest. James raised his weapon for the killing shot, but hesitated, then shook his head and lowered the gun, leaving her to run for the woods—

—And fall to a shot that whizzed straight through her temple.

The trio of fighters whirled at the apparent new threat, but their fears were quickly calmed at the annoyed call of, "Geez Gar', did you really have to do that?"

"What? It pisses me off when people try to kill my friends. Is that _so_ wrong?"

"Oh for heaven's sake…"

The final woman of the group squeaked and dashed for cover in the opposite direction, falling into the underbrush with a crash. Mariko stared at the useless weapon in her hands and hissed irritably. "We'll have to let her go for now," she said. "She and that weasel both."

As the others reemerged from the trees, James sheathed his own gun, closing his eyes and sighing. _'Thank God that's over for the day,_' he thought.

Something slammed into his chest, knocking all the wind out of him. His breath whooshed out in a rush and his eyes snapped open, turning downwards to find Jessie standing in front of her him, her hand curled into a fist. "Don't you _ever _do that again!" she snapped, shaking the fist threateningly at his face. "I thought she was going to _kill_ you, you idiot!"

"I knew," James wheezed, still fighting to find air, "that she didn't have a charge left—"

"But _I_ didn't!" she barked back. Jessie glared at him, irate but soft, somehow, an anger born out of worry rather than hate. "The next time you decide to do something so suicidal, could you let me know _ahead_ of time?"

Tracey raised both eyebrows, full understanding dawning in his ever-watchful eyes, though none of the others noticed him. They were all looking at James, and James in turn was looking over Jessie's head and towards Mariko. The female assassin stared right back, an unspoken question in the golden pools. James nodded. "Okay, Jess. I'll do that." He turned his gaze back to Jessie again. "But could you do me a favor, too?"

"What?"

"Could you maybe…" He rubbed ruefully at his chest. "_Not_ hit me full-force next time? I do _need_ this ribcage, you know."

She flushed and the others chuckled. "Oh. Sure thing."

"And you need a bodyguard _why_?" Gary teased.

Jessie whirled around and shook her fist at him, though she was grinning as she did it. "You wanna see what this baby does to _teeth_, Mr. Oak?"

"Hey, I got military-trained teeth, thank-you-very-much. You'll break a knuckle trying to pop these bad boys out."

"Well then you won't mind me testing that theory, will you…?"

Jessie started off down the path again, trading playful barbs with her friend. James smiled after her for a brief moment, then glanced over at Mariko, who was still watching him with the full force of her gaze. He nodded at her once and she returned the gesture, then turned away and swept off up the path, calling for the others to hurry up. Frowning softly, James strode after her, followed shortly by the rest of their companions. It looked as if the long day was not over yet.

xxx

Mariko leaned her back against a tree, rubbing her wounded abdomen and grimacing slightly. She'd made her escape from camp as soon as she had finished dinner, wanting privacy and expecting a visitor. She got both.

The leaves never rustled, but Mariko felt him stride up behind her even so. She didn't bother looking up, but just said, "Yes?"

"I could tell you wanted to talk to me," he said. His tone was open, friendly, more relaxed than she had ever heard it. But there was none of the tenderness that she had heard earlier. That, it seemed, was solely for Jessie.

Mariko wiped her face clean of all emotion, saying blankly, "You let her go, today."

James leaned on the same tree just to the right of her. "I didn't think I had a good shot."

"Liar," she said, harsher than intended. "You're as good a shot as me, if not better. I could have hit her easily, and I've no doubt you could as well."

He shrugged. "In that case, I didn't _want_ to kill her."

"Want?" she repeated. "In all my years of knowing you, you have never wanted, liked, or hated anything to any extreme. I have seen you kill people who did absolutely nothing to you. That woman insulted the both of us, not to mention she was with Karl, and you still let her get away." He shrugged and she sighed. "Ah, well. I always knew you weren't meant for this."

James nodded. "I think I figured that out for myself yesterday."

"Once this is all over, then, you will be 'turning in your gun,' so to speak?" Mariko asked, trying to hide the distress that she could feel building in her chest. He nodded. "Going with Jessie?"

"Maybe," he said.

"Certainly," she corrected.

He smiled. "You know me too well."

She breathed in the crisp smells of the Crimson Forest to steady herself. "Then that means that you and I will not meet again for a very long time."

"Maybe not," he agreed, and Mariko noted a faint edge of dissatisfaction in his voice. She wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse, but before she could make a decision James chuckled, forcing cheer into his voice. "I'd think _you'd _be glad to get rid of me, though. Now you won't have to put up with all those stupid jokes about the two of us."

She smiled. It was one of the few times James had seen her do that. "Yes, I suppose you have a point there. But I have enjoyed your company, despite that. It was… refreshing, to have a student for a time. And it is a shame," she added, "for now I am unable to repay my debt towards you."

"Well, if you _want_ to be my slave..." She shot him a murderous look and he laughed, holding up his hands in self-defense. "Kidding, kidding."

'_What a strange thing to hear him say,'_ Mariko thought, though out loud she only said, "I know. That does not make the remark any less deplorable."

"Aw, does that put me on the bounty hunters' black list now?"

"Absolutely," she agreed with a serious nod. "I shall immediately send out a notification informing the other assassins that none are to accept a job from you." She glanced at him with a promise that was almost a smile. "Though I think I shall have to send that directly _after_ I order them to ignore any requests for the assassination of a certain Jessica Smitt."

James' face burst into a smile. "You mean you'll really…?"

"Yes," she promised him. "Consider _that_ my repayment."

"Mariko, I could kiss you."

"There are some who might take offense to that," she snapped, looking hurriedly away. "And speaking of which, isn't it about time you returned to the camp?"

"Oh, I guess so. Was that all you wanted to talk about?"

Mariko whipped around to face him, lips parted, the words on the tip of her tongue. She nearly spoke the rest of it, the part that she had kept from him for nearly two years, but bit down on the words at the last moment. _'__No,'_ she told herself firmly. _'I turned him into a killer. I don't need to hurt him any more than I already have.'_ She laced her hands behind her back, forcing herself to sound indifferent and pulling on her blank gaze once again. "Yes, that was everything. Be sure to rest well. Tomorrow will be the last day of our battle, I am quite sure of it."

"I have a feeling you're right." He turned and walked away, tossing one hand over his shoulder in a backwards wave. "G'night, Mariko."

She swallowed hard, aware that she was pushing back much more than just the rising lump in her throat. "Good night... James."

xxx

Ignorant to the rest of the camp's activities, Brock, Tracey and Gary were seated comfortably in their small tent, which Gary had eloquently dubbed "The Horny Bachelor Barracks." Despite the chill night air, they were perfectly warm and had plenty of light, thanks to Brock's Charmeleon. Tracey doodled absentmindedly on a piece of paper, sketching from memory, trying to picture in his head how scenic the mountains had looked that night he had spoken with Mariko.

Gary's voice brought him back to the real world. "Man, all this running and shooting and wondering if I'm gonna die tomorrow is taking me back to simpler days… and making me wish for the simple things we had to take the edge off our headaches." He sighed. "I would sell my soul for a drink right about now."

Brock nodded. "You got that right, Gar'."

Tracey grinned and crawled quietly to his bag. After a minute or so of rummaging around he pulled out a small bottle of clear liquid that read simply: _Grey Swablu Vodka._ Brock and Gary stared at the bottle, blinking steadily. "Where did you—?"

"I bought it back in Silver," he explained. "With bounty hunters on our tail, blizzards hanging over our heads, and who _knew_ how many fights breaking out, I figured I was bound to need some of it before this was over."

Brock grabbed three small glasses out of his pack as he and Gary scrambled over to where the artist sat. Gary made a grab for the bottle, but Tracey jerked back sharply. "Not so fast! I'm gonna need two contracts, made out to Tracey Sketchit, for the souls of Brock Harrison and Gary Oak."

"I'll write you an IOU," they said as one.

Tracey laughed and handed over the bottle. Gary filled the glasses half-full, passing one out to each of his companions. With three simultaneous calls of "Bottoms up!" they clinked glasses and downed their shots, sighing as the liquid fire raced down their throats and through their tired bodies. After a pause, Tracey poured the rest of the small bottle evenly into the glasses, asking Brock if he had any orange slices or olives to turn the alcohol into a "drinking drink" instead of a "shooting drink." He said he thought he did, and a few minutes later they were all enjoying their flavor-tinged glasses of "pure bliss," as Gary lazily remarked.

They sat in silence for a while, enjoying the peaceful moment. After a minute, Gary spoke up. "So I never thought to ask before 'cause I didn't know if we'd ever make it this far, but now that we're here… What do you guys plan on doing once this little mission of ours is over, anyway?"

Brock toyed with the glass in his hands. "Well, I've wanted to be a breeder for as long as I can remember, but more and more I've been thinking that I want to do something to help _people_, too, so…" He chuckled. "Actually, Celia told me I should go into psychology – do counseling and things like that. Apparently I've got pretty good people skills. Misty even told me she could talk to me about anything." He shrugged. "The more I think about it, the more I like the sound of it. But I'd probably want a breeding farm on the side, too."

Gary nodded. "I could see you doing that." He paused to take a drink. "You and Tracey could be partners. How does Harrison & Sketchit sound? Nice ring to it, I think."

"Why Tracey?" Brock asked.

Gary laughed. "Can't you just see him, sitting in a chair, sketchpad in hand, writing notes and going, 'I see,' every once and a while?" Tracey threw his pencil at Gary, but the ex-pilot just laughed and dodged it. "Seriously, man, you notice _everything_. Hell, all I basically have to do is wiggle my eyebrow and you know what I'm thinking." The artist blushed. "Between the two of you I bet you could cure a lot of basket cases. And, since Tracey _is_ gonna be dating Celia..."

Both Brock and Tracey sat upright with a start. "What?!"

"Why wasn't I told about this?" Brock demanded, glaring at Tracey.

Tracey in turn glared at Gary. "Why wasn't _I_?"

Gary snorted. "Oh, come on. I may not be the most observant person in the world, but any idiot could see that she's got a thing for you. She and Jessie were always talking to each other, sneaking looks at you..." He winked in Tracey's direction. "And you like her too, doncha?"

Tracey flushed, rubbing the back of his head. "Well, maybe just a little..."

Brock covered his ears. "I am _not_ hearing this! Tracey did not just say he was attracted to my sister, and Gary did _not_ just say Celia was attracted to Tracey!"

Gary clapped a hand to his back. "Ah, don't get so worked up. Better someone you know than a drunken frat boy in a bar, right?"

"The thought of my sister being interested in men is one I _never_ wanted to face," Brock told him. "No offense or anything, Trace, but she's my little sister!"

"None taken, trust me," Tracey assured him, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute.

Gary was, of course, enjoying this more and more by the minute, and did little to help the mood when he leaned forward and hissed conspiratorially into Brock's ear, "Someday, every member of your family is going to have sex."

"Aaagh!" Brock shouted, bonking the ex-pilot over the head. "Shut _up_, you sick bastard!"

He laughed and raised his hands to ward off the playful blows. "Okay, okay! I'm sorry, Daddy Harrison, I won't ever talk about your precious little babies again!"

Tracey sighed, but couldn't help but chuckle to himself. "So Gary," he said when Brock had finally had enough of harassing him and the tent had quieted down again, "what about you? What do you plan on doing once this is over?"

His answer came jokingly. "Oh, I'll probably become a wastrel son and fritter my inheritance away on unnecessary crap like an Olympic-sized swimming pool and a couple of yachts."

"After you find Erika and sweep her off to your private island," Tracey finished.

Gary laughed. "Well, I might think about penciling that into my schedule, too." He frowned thoughtfully. "Man, I hope she makes it through the war all right. I know she didn't do any fighting, but if some nasty general decides to bomb our old camp..."

"I'm sure she's fine," Brock assured him. "Probably pining over her lost love right at this moment."

"Oh, hey, speaking of loves," Gary began, flashing Brock a wolfish grin, "I wanted to tell you that if you and Misty ever wanna be alone, Tracey and I don't mind dumping ourselves in on Ash and Mariko for a night."

Brock choked on his drink. "Me and Misty _alone_?" He held up his hands. "I-it's not like that, really. I – I mean, we haven't even gone an official _date_ yet, so…"

Tracey elbowed him. "Aw, c'mon, like we all don't know what went on that night you were alone in the mountains."

Gary nodded seriously. "Deep in a cave alone, the cold air whistling by outside. You snuggle closer to get warm. Suddenly, the wind whips off your clothes—" Brock grabbed his backpack and threw it at Gary. The veteran once more ducked the attack. "Okay, okay, I'll stop." He chuckled. "You have no idea how much fun it is to screw with you guys." He held up his glass. "Well, here, I'll make peace and propose a toast. To our future careers, our future successes, our future loves…" The others picked up their own glasses and Gary smirked. "…And the hope that Misty, Erika and Celia are all _goddesses_ in bed."

Tracey and Brock dumped the small amount of vodka left in their glasses straight onto Gary's head, making sure he didn't have a chance to dodge them this time.

xxx

The next morning was overcast and dreary, sending stabs of gloom through the camp.

"On the bright side," Ash remarked, stretching lazily. "We're near the edge of the forest. I'd expect to get out in about two hours or so."

"That might not be a good thing," Gary told him. "Maybe those assassins won't have any cover, but that means they'll be able to get a good shot at us from a distance."

"Yeah, but Mariko and James will get nice distance shots too," Tracey reminded him, confidence ringing in his voice. James looked doubtful; Mariko showed no real signs of emotion, as usual, but Tracey noted a slight slump in her shoulders and slowness in her movements.

'_For someone as unreadable as _her_,' _he thought with a concerned frown, _'that's gotta be the equivalent of depression or something._ _I wonder what happened?'_ He promised himself that he'd try to figure it out before they reached the Elite's hideout. Though they hadn't spoken intimately since that first night in the mountains, Tracey still felt a sort of connection with the observant bounty hunter. Somehow, he thought that she wouldn't mind so much if he was the one to figure out what was causing her distress. He promised himself that he'd keep his eyes and ears open for any useful hints. Maybe he could even help her with her problem, once he knew what that problem was.

'_Now that,' _he thought with a hint of a smile, _'is something she _would_ mind, no matter _who_ it came from.'_

As usual the morning was quiet and peaceful, as if to tell the travelers that the entire day would be without problems. Even so, everyone kept their eyes and ears open while they chatted idly, ready to react to a surprise attack should it come. Making good time, they came to the forest's end an hour and a half after beginning. The land stretched before them, barren but for a hill or rock here and there, with snow blanketing the ground as far as the eye could see. Ash tested the white layer. It crunched softly, but didn't collapse under the added weight. "Good. It's packing snow, so the going will be easier."

"That's a relief," Misty said. "If it had all been powder we would have been in for one hell of a trip."

Tracey cast a glance at Gary, knowing it would be "one hell of a trip" for him either way. He remembered what Mariko has said, though, and kept quiet. Sure enough, after a minor struggle the ex-pilot seemed to get the hang of maneuvering through the snow, and kept up easily with the others. Tracey at last realized just how right Mariko had been.

They took a short break for lunch, then started their trek again.

"When do you think they'll attack?" Jessie mused aloud.

James thought for a moment. "The past two days they've started firing between one and two." He checked his watch: one o'clock exactly. Louder, so the whole group would hear, he announced, "Stay on the alert! Karl will be here soon!"

As soon as the words left his mouth a laser shot ripped from behind a small boulder pile. Jessie had to throw herself to the ground in order to miss getting hit, biting icy snow as she connected with the earth.

James' eyes watched the only means of cover for Karl and the woman, waiting for one of them to lean out to fire. He set the weapon on level two: meant to stun, but not kill. Vaguely he heard Gary ask, "Hey, where the hell's Mariko?"

James glanced around, one eye still trained on the rocky outcrop. His fellow assassin was nowhere to be seen. How long had she been gone? She'd been so quiet all day that he hadn't even noticed her departure. "Dammit," he hissed, "where is that woman when you need her?" He caught movement from behind the boulders, and without even pausing for a breath he aimed and fired, hitting the female's gun and turning it into a useless, melted chunk of metal. He smiled grimly.

The harsh noise of a woman's scream echoed from behind the rocks. What sounded like a minor struggle ensued, followed by three quick laser shots, then violent swearing from Karl. Surprisingly, Mariko's voice shouted out from around the pile. "James! Jessie! The rest of you as well, if you'd like." There was a silent, shocked pause on the traveler's parts. Mariko's head poked up above the stones. "Do stop standing there with your mouths hanging open and get over here."

James and Jessie were the first to move, followed shortly by the rest of the group. Behind the outcrop they discovered a surprising scene. The female companion of Karl's lay dead a few feet from Mariko. In front of the assassin leader sat Karl himself, eyes wide with fright, his gun charred and worthless.

Misty swallowed hard at the sight of the dead woman and instinctively buried her face in Brock's sleeve. He squeezed her shoulder but had to look away as well, noting that Ash did the same. The rest of their battle-hardened companions didn't even flinch. "What—?"

"I sneaked in from the back and caught them unawares. The woman attacked me, and Karl accidentally killed _her_ instead of me." Mariko's lips curled upwards into a humorless smile. "Now, now, what to do with this one? Since you were going to make me suffer, I am rather inclined to do the same to you. James!" He jumped, startled by the rough outburst. "Jessie is your… companion." She said the word with only a faint touch of bitterness. "What shall I do with Karl?"

"I'm not… really the authority on this anymore," he admitted. James turned his head away, feeling a little dizzy at the thought of what would certainly come next. Tracey followed his example, but Jessie and Gary kept their eyes on Mariko, watching her grimly, waiting to see what she would do.

Karl noticed, with some amount of surprise, that Mariko's look softened as her gaze flickered for an instant on her assassin companion. The look vanished in an instant, though, as she turned back to him with nothing but scorn. "Listen, Weasel. Normally I would kill you on the spot and spit on your carcass, but I'm feeling especially forgiving today. So."

She fired at the ground by his feet. The shot didn't hit them, but the intense power and heat of the gun seared off the soles of his shoes, leaving the bottoms of his feet a throbbing red. Karl whimpered but said nothing. He just stared at Mariko as she glared back at him, her eyes filled with everything _but_ forgiveness. "I am sparing your miserable life on two important conditions. One is that you never return to the bounty hunting community, or to Kanto for that matter, for the rest of your life. If you do…" She tightened her finger on the trigger in self-explanation. "Secondly, you will never put a single scratch on James – Jake, to you – or his friends. If you were to break either of these rules you know I would find out. I would stalk you to the ends of Nomekop, if need be, and make you wish that your mother had never given birth to such a pitiful excuse for a human. Am I understood?" He nodded frantically, swallowing back a wave of grateful tears. "As I expected. Now, get out of my sight." She nodded to a hill in the distance. "If you aren't over that by the time I count to twenty, I really will kill you. Go."

Karl scrambled to his feet, burned soles forgotten in his terror, and dashed madly for the hill. Mariko didn't bother counting - she really had no intention of killing him, not right then anyway - and turned back to the group. "Such a nice way to spend an afternoon, stalking two bounty hunters. Shall we continue?"

Following dumbstruck, the Kantans walked in silence for quite some time. Finally, Gary spoke up. "How the hell'd you sneak off without any of us noticing you?"

"Oh, I noticed," Tracey said, raising his hand as if he were being called on in class. When the others turned to stare at him, he quickly dropped his arm and winced, explaining, "Well, with the way she left so quietly, I figured she had a good reason, so I decided not to say anything…" He looked to Mariko with honest admiration in his eyes. "But what _I_ can't figure out is how you were able to follow us without either us _or_ Karl seeing you. There isn't a speck of ground cover out here."

The corners of Mariko's eyes turned upwards into a smile. "Another trick of mine, my friend. Camouflage happens to be my specialty. And it is quite easy to track an enemy that doesn't know you are coming, or stay out of sight of a group who doesn't know you are gone."

She strode ahead, away from the others. After a brief hesitation, James followed.

"You let him get away," he said, repeating what she had told him the night before.

Mariko smiled with both eyes and lips this time. "Perhaps you are not the only one who has been affected by your friends' compassion."

xxx

The journey went by considerably easier after that, for the rest of that day and for the early morning of the next. A sense of anxious calm filled the camp, as they knew they were safe from harm but also very close to their final destination. The only significant event occurred the following morning, when Mariko was found missing and everything she owned gone.

"She's… not coming back this time, is she?" Ash asked, surprised at the touch of sadness in his voice.

James sighed, setting his hands behind his head. "She doesn't like to travel with too many people at once. The seven of us must have seemed like a crowd to her, so I'm sure meeting the Elite was out of the question. She didn't need to stay any longer, so she didn't. It's pretty typical of her, really."

"You gonna miss her?" Jessie asked.

"A little," he admitted. "But I think I'll manage. And it helps to know that _she_ isn't going to miss _me_." Tracey frowned at that – something didn't seem quite right about it, though he couldn't put his finger on anything beyond the barest shred of a hunch – but decided not to comment.

"Yeah, you know… I think _I'm_ actually gonna miss her, too," Gary said.

Tracey nodded, watching the surrounding flatlands for some sign of the female bounty hunter. "I will too, Gar'. I mean, I know this sounds really weird, but I think in some ways she was sort of..." He smiled. "Well, sort of my soul mate."

"Mariko, your soul mate?" Gary repeated. He shrugged, shaking his head and chuckling in disbelief. "If you say so." He slung an arm around his friend's shoulder. "Aw, but don't look so glum. I don't think she's gone for good – she'd never admit it, but she liked us, I think." He chuckled. "In her own shadowy way, I have a feeling she'll be checking up on us every once in a while. To make sure her adopted family doesn't get themselves killed."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Tracey agreed. He shouldered his pack. "How much farther, Ash?"

"Should hit the valley around late this evening, if we keep up this pace."

Misty's face lit up happily. "Oh, thank God. I can't _wait_ to be back in civilization again. I think the first thing I'm gonna do is take the longest, hottest bath of my life."

Gary couldn't stop himself as he smirked and half-sang, "And maybe Brock can j-o-o-oin you—" He was immediately buffeted by two backpacks. He had to throw up his free hand to ward off the blows while his other fought to keep his crutch from sliding out from under him. "Ack! Sorry, sorry! I won't – ow! – say that again! Dammit, Misty, is that thing – ow! – filled with rocks or something?"

xxx

Mariko watched the group from atop a far-off hill. She kept her eyes on them until they disappeared out of sight. Flicking her own pack onto her back, she smiled. "Yes. I suppose I _will_ miss them. But it's much easier this way. I always despised good-byes... though, I don't suppose I should consider this a final farewell. I'll have to keep my eyes on that bunch – it will be most interesting to see what they make out of themselves." She sent a parting look to where they had escaped her vision, then turned and headed the other way, back towards the town of Silver. "Ah, no matter. I have a lot of work to do as it is. I'll handle that mess with Jessie first, then perhaps stop by Pewter on my way to Celadon, just to make sure they arrive home safely..."

The solitary bounty hunter was soon over the hilltop on a direct line for the Crimson Forest, thinking aloud as she went and promising to visit the interesting company of Kantans soon.

xxx

After a long, hard hike up a gradual incline for nearly three hours, the travelers abruptly found themselves looking down into a deep valley. The setting sun, working along with the snow-covered mountains to work as a backdrop, painted the scene all the more memorable. Below them stood several cabins, all circling a large field that likely served as a training ring. The rusty hues of crimson, violet and gold painted the village in softness and light. It seemed to be inviting them down, telling them to rest peacefully after such a long trip.

"It's beautiful," Tracey breathed.

"After all this…" Jessie said slowly.

"…We're finally here," James finished.

Ash stared down at the valley and found that, for the first time in over a year, he felt a real, excited, hope-filled laugh bubble up from his stomach and out of his throat. He took off at a run down the hill, glancing back over his shoulder just long enough to wave a hand at the others. "C'mon, you guys! We're almost there! Last one down's a rotten egg!"

He took off running again, and it seemed that with every step he was softening, brightening, remembering the eager boy who had once clenched his fist and promised never to give up, who had grabbed his friends by the hands and pulled them forward, towards a future that had seemed so dazzling he couldn't even look at it. And, for the first time since the war had begun, he thought that that future might still exist. Because of the people behind him, pushing him forward… and, because of himself, running ahead.

It was so close he could almost taste it.

Misty and Brock exchanged glances, smiling in happy bewilderment at their friend's sudden exuberance. Then Misty felt the laugh sneaking into her throat as well and she let it burst out, grabbing Brock's hand and pulling him down the hill with her, chasing after their dashing friend. Jessie and James shrugged and took off after the trio, keeping close on their tails but never bothering to surpass them. Tracey took a step forward to follow, but a voice at his side made him turn.

"Tracey," Gary said, looking intently at his friend. "I'll be damned if I'm that rotten egg. Help me."

The young artist stared at him for a minute, unable to believe his ears. Then, with a teasing half-grin, he looped Gary's free arm over his shoulder, offering him balance and strength. "Now, was that _really_ so hard?"

And with twin battle cries they tore off after their friends, flying past Jessie and James with a speed that threatened to send them toppling at any second. Jessie grinned at Gary for a moment, pointing a finger up towards the sprinting League Champion. "Tick, tick, tick."

Gary grinned and nodded. "Looks like we're all gettin' wound up again, doesn't it?"

"We'll see you at the bottom!" Tracey called back as the pair put on another burst of speed, leaving the former Rockets behind.

Misty shook her head and giggled as they dashed past, calling out to them, "If you catch Ash, tell him to wait for the rest of us, would you? I'm not about to miss a chance at giving the Elite a piece of my mind, too!"

"_Catch_ Ash?" Gary cried as he and Tracey whipped by first Brock and then Misty. "You kidding? With the way he is now, my old _fighter jet_ wouldn't be able to catch him!"

xxx

Lance was enjoying a quiet evening with his family and the other members of the Elite when three sharp raps sounded on the door. Everyone exchanged glances, immediately recognizing it as the League Champion's trademark knock. Bruno turned off the television as he and the others abandoned their seats by the blazing fire to greet their returning friend.

Lance opened the door and had to take a step back. It was Ash, sure enough, but behind him stood a collection of six others. "Ash?" he questioned, blinking wide eyes at the little gang. "Who are these people, and what are you—?"

"I'll explain it to you later, I promise," he interrupted. He glanced back at his companions, offering them a smile full of hope and gratitude. They had stuck by him through everything. Now, it was his turn to see their trust paid back in full. He turned back to Lance with determination in his eyes. "Right now I need you to call up every world leader that you can, from Quiana to the Orange Islands. Tell them the League Champ wants to hold a meeting at the Indigo Plateau, Tuesday at 3 PM Kanto time."

The Dragon Trainer stepped back, letting Ash and his companions into the cabin. "Well, all right, but can I ask what the reason is?"

Ash smiled. "For peace."

* * *

**Author's Note: 10/1/08**

Ah, there's so much to do in this one… Let's start with a note about the story's finale, then go to the final character profile (hello, Jimmy-boy!), and then wrap up with a delightfully long-winded commentary on the two major romantic relationships of _2k5_. On your mark, get set, go!

**The End? **Okay, so there is an epilogue, and I'm going to post it in another week or so… but to be honest, there's a part of me that prefers the story without it. The epilogue is one of those fluffy endings, and these days I'm not a huge fan of fluffy endings. Even so, I promised myself that I wasn't going to make any major changes with the edit – that I was only going to expand on what I'd created in the original, and not take anything away – so I'm going to give everyone the epilogue once again. It's sort of… well, let me put it like this. If you enjoyed the epilogue at the end of the seventh _Harry Potter_ book, then go ahead and read the epilogue for _2k5_. If you didn't enjoy it, then go ahead and say "The End" now. I promise that I'll like you just as much either way. _(smile)_ And now, profile time!

**James Morgan**

**The Basics  
**-Like Jessie, I went with the U.S. age assumption, so he's about twenty-four.  
-While Gary is probably the most handsome of the male characters, James is definitely the prettiest (haha! I'm sorry, I couldn't resist!). He hasn't physically changed all that much from how he looked in the series, though his tall, lean frame has filled out so that he looks very graceful now instead of gangly. (He's about 6'2", by the way, and the tallest of the group by about three inches.) He grew his hair out a little bit as well, so that it falls right to his shoulders, but he always wears it pulled back in a low ponytail.  
-I went with "Morgan" for his last name, though I'd been using "Rosewood" up until this point. Both were popular fanfiction last names for James at the time. As usual, I have no idea if they still are.

**Wartime History  
**-I talked about the Rocket Camp in Jessie's profile, so there's no reason to say anything more. James fought in this unit for just a little over six months before the incident with Jessie's "death" caused him to desert.**  
**-I have all these minor story line ideas for James and Mariko, but I don't suppose any of them are direly important to talk about. I will briefly mention Aria though, who, unlike the enigmatic Mariko and "Jacob," was actually a very outgoing, cheerful person. She traveled with a partner (Seth), was fluent in five languages, had a beautiful singing voice, drank like a fish, and swore like a sailor. She and Mariko were (surprisingly?) the best of friends. She was also the only of the assassins who could get a genuine laugh out of James, though only on rare occasions. She and Seth occasionally traveled with Mariko and James, joining in on big missions or just enjoying one another's company.**  
**-During a botched mission in James' third year as an assassin, he took a laser shot that was meant for Mariko. He was hit in the abdomen and was seriously injured. Mariko, who could not take him to a hospital out of fear that they would identify him as James Morgan, worked tirelessly to save his life. It was during this time that she came to realize that she cared for him as more than just a partner. When he at last healed, he and Mariko decided that his life debt still had not been paid because, although he had saved her life, she had also saved _his_. This put them back at square one – and for once, Mariko actually seemed happy about this.**  
**-About a year before the present story time, Mariko and James were traveling towards Lavender when Mariko fell ill and had to pause to rest. Before long, they both realized that she was struck with Quiana's killer virus. It was a weaker strain of the virus, and in her stubbornness she insisted that she did not need to be hospitalized. It fell to James to take care of her, bringing medicines and working to keep her fever at a manageable temperature. In a few months she was cured, and announced that James had now _officially_ worked off his life debt to her. The two went their separate ways shortly thereafter, though Mariko never expressed a genuine desire for him to leave (for obvious reasons, I think).

**Relationships  
**-Honestly, I could talk analytically about Jessie and James' relationship for weeks, but I decided to relegate that to the commentary that follows this profile. And as for the in-story stuff… well, James has pretty much told you all that you need to know by now. (_smile_) So let's leave it at that.**  
**-I've already talked about his situation with Mariko in her profile, so there's not a lot to add. James didn't really like her at the beginning, but over time he developed a sort of fondness for her. More than that, though, he's always admired her talent as a hunter, her devotion to her work, and her competence in all activities – whether it was dealing with the assassin community, living for weeks in the wilderness, or even something as simple as reading the weather. The two have a sort of mutual respect for each other now, and James trusts Mariko with his life, if not with all of his thoughts. **  
**-Like I said, James had a good relationship with Aria and her partner Seth, though his introverted personality didn't allow him to make any other friends within the bounty hunting community. He and Karl became enemies somewhat on accident: Karl actually saw him perform an assassination and, impressed with his skill, suggested that the "Rookie" join his team. When James flat-out refused, Karl took it as an insult, and has been pretty well dedicated to hating him ever since.

**General Ramblings  
**James is definitely the most dramatically different character in _2k5_, and I'm a little afraid that, if I tried to explain exactly _why_ I did everything I did, it would take pages and pages (and this author's note is already out of control!). I'll try to give an abridged version, though. First, I was influenced by the Japanese version of _Pokemon_, where James (Kojiro) is voiced by Shinichirou Miki-san, a man notorious for playing total badasses. Second, I was influenced by _Slayers_, which I was watching religiously as I was writing this, and the character Zelgadis, who I kind of fangirled over for a while. Third – and perhaps most importantly – the entirety of _2k5_ sprang from the opening scene of the fanfic, which jumped into my head one afternoon out of absolutely nowhere and demanded that I write it down (I call this a "Creative Boot-to-the-Head" moment). And when that happens, you don't question the Muse, or it goes on strike, and we certainly can't have that. So James was an assassin… and only after I knew that did I try to work out the back story for _why_ this would have happened.

In retrospect, I'm a little uncertain about James' character, as it is dangerously close to being OOC (which is a dirty word in my vocabulary). But on the other hand, I'm sort of happy with it, too. I think there's a lot of psychological depth to James' personality in _2k5_, which was a fun thing for me to explore. And, in the end, he does become "whole" again, allowing a person who I think is actually a very in-character, more mature version of James to appear. I like him… but then again, James was always my favorite character, so I don't think there's much that could have gotten me to change my mind about that _(smile)_.

And finally, for the brave at heart, let's bring on the long-winded commentary!

**On Romance (Or, "I'm Just Full of 'Ship")**

I promised that I would discuss the intimate _2k5_ relationships, and the last "official" chapter seems like a good place to do that. This was a fun story when it came to the romances because, like I said before, outside of one relationship (Jessie/James, predictably), I really didn't _know_ who was going to wind up together. I let the characters do their thing, and this is how it wound up. Overall I'm pleased with the couples, and I like to think that everyone finds a "happy ending" both with their significant others and with their own futures.

The interesting thing about both of the main relationships (Brock/Misty, Jessie/James) is that I freely admit that neither exist or indeed could even _happen_ during the run of the TV series (and by "TV series" I do, as usual, mean "Indigo-to-early Johto canon"). What I mean by this is, at the ages and maturity levels the characters are at during the series, I don't think they could have formed these kinds of bonds with one another.

For Misty and Brock, it has a lot to do with age – a (healthy) 15-year old boy simply isn't interested in a 12-year old girl. So you get two very good friends, but little else. However, add a few years, and suddenly you've got the potential for a budding relationship. _(smile) _For Jessie and James… well, let's not kid ourselves, it all comes down to maturity level. I used to like to believe Jess and Jim were "in lurve" during the series, but now I've come to think that they really _are_ just incredibly close friends. I do think that if they ever grow up a little bit, they could very easily find themselves in a romantic relationship, but as they are they simply do not have the ability to commit to one another on that level – Jessie is too defensive, and James is too much of a coward. (I do love them both, though, for all their faults.)

Anyway, having said all that, here's a little bit (read: a lot) on the individual relationships!

**Misty & Brock: **A friend of mine had me slowly morphing into a gymshipper when I was writing this fic, but I knew that Misty had a crush on Ash in the series, so I think that in some ways I had sort of thought that Misty and Ash would wind up together in _2k5_. Of course, then they both said "No!" to that idea – and somewhere, Brock started dancing (haha).

_Misty's Side of the Ship?_ I really like the natural way that Misty grows closer to Brock as the story progresses. Even at the end of this chapter, I wouldn't presume to say that Misty is "in love" with Brock – "in like," certainly, and willing to explore the relationship and see if it becomes anything more – but there are no wedding bells ringing in Misty's head at this point. And I think that's perfectly fine. People _don't_ fall in love in two days like they do in the movies, so I'm pleased with the more realistic way I portrayed her feelings for him. Even so, I think Misty has come to realize that Brock is a very important person in her life, and whether they decide to stay together or go back to being friends, I doubt that that bond will ever vanish.

_Brock's Side of the Ship? _Hehe… I find Brock unbelievably adorable in this story. Here you have this incredibly nice guy who (a) has always sort of assumed his two best friends liked each other, and (b) has been rejected so many times by so many women that it only becomes natural for him to think that _this_ one is no different. So in the end, he tries his absolute hardest to keep his feelings a secret, while ultimately revealing them at every possible opportunity. It makes me want to hug him, and makes me that much happier for him when he, who is never "the guy who gets the girl," actually gets the girl. In the end, maybe I wound up writing them together because I, like Gary, like to root for the underdog. _(smile)_

_Overall_, though, I think Brock and Misty are really good for each other. They are people who are simultaneously idealists and realists (Brock the romantic, Misty the optimist), but they are idealistic and realistic about different things, which allows them to keep the other in check whenever their passions get the better of them. Not to mention they just get along really darn well. (_smile_)

**Jessie & James: **The thing with Jessie and James is, whether you think of them as a couple or not, there is absolutely no way they could be happy without the other one around. They really are two halves to a whole. Even Anti-shippers (or at least the ones from my days as a PokeFan) willingly called them "soul mates." What's my point? I don't really have one. _(laughs)_ I guess I'm just trying to say that these two are the most deeply connected of any of the characters in _2k5_, and whether you support Rocketshipping or not, I think that's one thing we can all agree on. So see? Peace is possible! (Now let's all join hands and sing _Kum-Bah-Ya_, hahaha).

_Jessie's Side of the Ship? _I love the way Jessie deals with James in _2k5_. She's matter-of-fact, stubborn, and absolutely unwilling to give up right to the very end. But that's just because she really loves him, you know? But you know – and as cruel as this is to say – I think that it was actually a _good_ thing for Jessie that she and James were separated for those five years. The problem with James is that he's almost _too_ nice – he spoils Jessie, letting her throw tantrums and toss all the blame on him, and if they had remained together I'm not sure if Jessie ever would have had a chance to really grow up and learn how to like herself. And I don't really think you can love someone else if you don't like yourself first. But, because they _were_ separated, Jessie was able to mature, and because of _that_ she was able to fall in love with James. It's a harsh story, but in the end I think it's a good one, too.

_James' Side of the Ship?_ I don't know how obvious I made it in _2k5_, but in my mind, James has been interested in Jessie off-and-on since they were kids. Unfortunately, he was also terrified of her, so nothing much came of those feelings. _(sweat)_ I wouldn't say that he was in love with Jessie during the series, but I think he cared about her a lot more than she did about him (he goes out of his way to help her out far more than she does for him… but this may also have to do with the fact that James is a whole lot nicer than Jessie during the series as well). By the time of the Rocket Camp he had definitely decided he was in love with her, but he was too insecure to admit it to anyone but himself. And then of course he's too wrapped in his "Jacob Carol" persona to say anything in _2k5_ – right up until (what I like to call) the New and Improved James comes back in _Crossroads_ and decides to throw caution to the wind (Go, Jimmy, go!).

_Overall_, these two have so much in common, but they balance each other out as well – James keeps Jessie from becoming too hard, and she keeps him from becoming too soft. I genuinely love them together, especially now that they've managed to mature and learn how to focus on things outside of themselves. They're naturally selfish people, but they're much more aware of others now, and their ability to be so completely generous and thoughtful towards one another really speaks volumes to just how deeply they care for one another, I think.

And that, finally, is The End! Except, of course, that it isn't. (_grin)_ I'll be here again real briefly at the end of the Epilogue, but if you decide not to read it, then I will take my bow and exit now. Thank you so much for giving this humble little PokeProject a chance! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Thanks again! – Dee


	12. Epilogue

**Disclaimer: **I don't own the Pokemon Universe, otherwise this fanfic would be 500-plus chapters long, instead of just twelve (and isn't twelve a much cozier number than 500-plus?). The story is mine, as are the couple of original characters.

**Rating: **PG-13, for language and violence.

* * *

**Epilogue: Reunion  
**The center of Pewter City hummed with the sounds of parents calling to their children, construction managers shouting orders to their crews, businessmen making rapid fire plans for meetings to determine the expansion of their latest enterprises. Skeletons for new office buildings, brick piles for new apartments, even a foundation for a new gym speckled the landscape, speaking of promises for an ever-expanding future. The city's wall lay in wreckage, its new population too great to be contained within the old barriers – and besides, what use were such barriers now anyway? Better to destroy them and use their bricks to create another district for the city's increasing number of residents, the same residents who had poured in from the cities too far gone to salvage, the same residents who had trickled in from the countryside where they had hidden as refugees, and the same residents who had all come searching for the promise of a future. And indeed, if there was just one thing that the city's diverse residents shared down to the last infant, it was that sense of hope, and that sense could be felt right into the city's framework. Everywhere someone was discussing a new project, a new building, a new life that had seemed so terribly far from their grasps just two years ago.

At the edge of this bustle, and with a hope in her foundations as well, sat a little whitewashed chapel. And standing just outside of this chapel, with still another hope cradled in her arms, stood a young woman. She had once been known as Misty Williams, but the ring on her left hand told of a new name, and the man at her side with the matching ring left no doubt as to what that new name could be. A few guests filed past the young woman and into the chapel, but she paid little attention to them beyond a smile and a "thank you for coming." Her attention was focused almost entirely on the infant girl nodding sleepily in her arms. Judging by the sparse conversation coming from her husband, she had a feeling he was doing the same thing.

"One of us is going to have to be social, or it'll make the bride and groom look bad," she said, shooting a teasing look over her shoulder at the man standing beside her.

"Fine," he said with a grin. "Let me hold her then, and _you_ can pay attention to the guests."

"No way," she shot back. "Mothers get priority, everyone knows that. So you just…"

Misty trailed off as she caught a red streak out of the corner of her eye. Glancing up, she saw Gary's shiny sports car pull into a parking spot near the front of the building. A young woman who Misty knew had to be Erika – _'She must have come back with him after his stay in Celadon,' _she decided– stepped out of the side nearest to them. Gary hopped out of the driver's seat, strolling around the side of his car.

"Brock," Misty gasped, but he was taking their daughter from her before she had to say anything else. And with her arms free, there was nothing to stop Misty from sprinting down the chapel steps, her feet never slowing for an instant – and her eyes never leaving Gary's two perfectly normal-looking legs.

She threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "I'm so happy for you!"

Gary pried her off, following her gaze downwards. "Can you tell it's not real?"

"Oh, Gary, it's as good as new!"

He grinned. "That's what everyone says. Top-of-the-line, the latest thing. Those doctors in Celadon are really something." He stretched the synthetic body part experimentally. "I won't be running any triathlons, of course, but it's great for moving around the lab."

Misty nodded, beaming as Brock walked up at a slower pace. "Brock, isn't it—?"

"I saw it at the bachelor party the other day," he cut in. He soothed the bundle in his arms, who had started to fuss from all the movement. "Aren't you going to introduce us to your, er… 'friend,' Gary?"

He nodded. "Misty, Brock, this is Erika Mooney. Erika, this is Misty and Brock Harrison."

"You probably don't remember us, but we met you before, about ten years ago," Brock told her.

She searched her memory for a moment. "Actually, I do remember the both of you." She grinned at Brock. "After all, it's not every day that my gym nearly burns down… _and_ I have a boy swoon over me."

He flushed. "Eh, that _was_ a long time ago..."

"Is the gang all here yet?" Gary interrupted.

"You're the first," Brock explained, understanding exactly who he meant, "but Jessie and James said they'd be coming. I never got a real reply from Ash, but he's so busy these days I don't blame him for not being able to make it."

"Man, I haven't talked to Jess and James in months," Gary remarked with a chuckle. "Jess'll probably kill me for being such a crappy friend, but between getting used to _this_ thing," he patted his prosthetic limb, "and fighting through grad school I've barely had time to trade e-mails with _Tracey_, never mind everyone else. Any word on how they're doing?"

"Oh, didn't you hear?" Misty asked, eager to share what she knew. "James filed a lawsuit against Jessebelle for holing up in his parents' home and using their money. I hear it was an open-and-shut case; apparently all the will said was that James had to be married to get the inheritance, but it never said _who_ he had to get hitched to. They've been really busy with all of that, but Jessie called me when Aya was born. That's why I've got all the news."

Gary looked over at the little girl in Brock's arms. "So _this_ is the Aya I've heard so much about, huh? She looks a lot like the both of you." The jet-black hair, lightly tanned skin, and bright blue eyes proved him right. "Probably break a lot of guy's hearts when she gets older."

"Oh no, Gary Oak, you're not teaching any child of mine your wicked ways," Brock said with a good-natured smile.

"Yeah. I guess she'll just inherit those from you, huh?" Gary countered.

"How's Tracey doing?" Erika interrupted before Brock could shoot off another retort.

"He's holding up as best as can be expected," Misty told her. She giggled, taking Aya back from her husband. "Actually, Brock's enough of a nervous wreck for the both of them."

"It's not every day your kid sister gets married," he justified a little tensely. "But, at least it's Tracey."

Gary laughed. "Well, I'd better go in and give him some moral support. It's my duty as best man, you know." He gave Erika a good-bye kiss and started to enter the church, but he turned before he reached the door, eyes glittering mischievously. "Oh, I meant to ask: how're you doing with that psychiatric firm? What's it called again? Harrison and Sketchit?"

"Sketchit and Harrison," Brock corrected airily. "And it's doing great, thank-you-very-much."

"You should listen to my advice more often," Gary said, trotting into the church.

Brock snorted, muttering something impolite under his breath. Erika and Misty both laughed. "Oh, hey," Misty said, nudging at Brock. "Shouldn't _you_ be heading in, too?" He paled and Misty giggled. "Oh come on, it's not that bad. Just think of it as practice for Aya."

"Are you trying to make this _worse_?" he demanded, but hurried into the chapel.

"What's he so worried about?" Erika asked.

Misty giggled. "Oh, he's giving Celia away."

"Like he's her _father_?" she gasped with a little laugh of her own.

"Well, their real father passed away a few years ago," Misty explained, "so Brock's really the only one who _can _do it. Oh, but don't worry. He makes a big deal out of being all freaked out by it, but trust me, he's _loving_ this. Brock may be the only man on the planet whose childhood dream was to be a dad."

"I guess that makes Aya his dream come true, then."

Misty rolled her eyes. "She's gonna grow up believing she's a princess at this rate. I mean really, you should come over sometime and _see_ this girl's toy collection. She's _swimming_ in stuffed animals." Erika laughed, but she didn't miss the way Misty glanced fondly back at the chapel, blowing some hair out of her eyes as she did. "Sometimes I can't decide which is more fun: watching Aya, or watching Brock with her."

Erika smiled. "It must be nice having a family of your own."

"Mm," she agreed. "Though I didn't always think that. To tell you the truth, Brock kinda had to drag me kicking and screaming to the altar."

"You didn't want to marry him?"

"I _did_, but I wanted a long engagement. Maybe about five years long," she added with a wry grin. "I think I had it in my head that marriage was this thing that old people did – like just saying 'I do' would turn my hair grey or something. Only Brock was really persistent about it, and… well, he doesn't ask for much, so when he does it's that much harder for me to say 'no.' Besides," she added with a smile, "he was freakin' adorable about it."

"What'd he do?"

"Well, first off, he – oh!" She stopped short as a forest green SUV rumbled into the parking lot. "Sorry, can we save this story for another time? That's Jessie and James, some close friends of mine."

"Gary's told me all about them," Erika assured her. "Introduce me, please?"

"Sure thing," Misty agreed.

She watched James get out, going over to Jessie's door. Chivalrous as usual, he helped her out, closing the door for her. She said something they couldn't hear from where they were, and James laughed. The pair made their way up the church steps, greeting Misty warmly and exchanging introductions with Erika. Only then did Jessie, who had been glancing at the child in Misty's arms since their arrival, finally ask, "So is this Aya?" Misty nodded and Jessie smiled. "She's beautiful. You named her after Brock's mom, right?"

"Yep," Misty said, cuddling the bundle closer to her chest. Aya blinked sleepily up at her mother. "She's so well-behaved and sweet. She must get it from Brock." The church bells clanged, but even then the little girl only whimpered once before yawning and closing her eyes. "Oh, that's the cue to go in," Misty explained. "Come on. I'll be sitting in the back just in case Aya gets fussy, but I'll find you three some front-row seats so you can take lots of good pictures for me, okay?"

Jessie took James' arm and they followed Misty and Erika into the chapel. The little church was nearly filled with guests, but even so the group spotted a series of open seats beside Brock's siblings. "Say Misty," James whispered as they walked, "do you know if Ash will be here?"

"Maybe," she said, gesturing for the three to slide in beside Frita, who smiled warmly at Jessie and James. "I mean, he made it to my wedding, so there's always a chance, but with all the things he's doing these days I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't show up."

Jessie glanced at her watch. "There's still time. He might surprise us."

xxx

Tracey straightened his tie for the twelfth time, hoping he didn't look as nervous as he felt. He watched his reflection in the full-length mirror, certain that he looked like a complete idiot.

"Glad to see you ditched the headband."

Tracey whirled around to face Gary. He smiled wanly at his friend. "Well, if it isn't the pervert who hired a stripper for my bachelor party."

Gary laughed. "That's Professor Pervert to you."

"Fine, fine. _Professor _Pervert Oak, PhD." Glad to take his mind off the task at hand, Tracey asked, "How's the new career going, anyway?"

"Really great. I got a lot of things from foraging Grandpa's lab." He said it without any hints of sorrow, much to Tracey's relief. "Right now I'm working on... aw hell, Trace, don't change the subject. How're _you_ doing?"

He rubbed his sweating palms on a towel. "About as good as Brock, if not worse. I'm doing a better job of keeping my composure in front of the others, but… I'm just... I guess I'm kind of scared, is all. What if I screw up, or we find out we're totally wrong for each other, or... There's just so much that could go wrong."

Gary brushed a fleck of fuzz off his friend's suit, clapping Tracey on the shoulder. "Don't worry so much. You've been dating for nearly two years, so I'd think you'd know each other pretty well by now. And the way I see it, the worst that can possibly happen is you fall apart and fight your way through a bitter, bloody divorce – but hey, then the kids get two Christmases, right?"

"Ha, ha," Tracey drawled, but couldn't help but smile. He heard the clang of the church bells. "Okay, here we go. How do I look?"

"Great. You _sound_ like a teenage girl, though." Gary shoved the artist out the door, following shortly. "Just go already. You'll be fine."

Tracey kept his head forward, snatching glances at the people around him. He saw Erika, Jessie, and James in one of the front rows, but didn't see Ash anywhere. Well, that was all right. Ash was busy, and for a good cause, so if he missed out it was understandable. Tracey sighed inwardly. For some reason he'd thought Mariko might be there. He hadn't seen her since she had disappeared that night two years ago.

As Tracey reached the front of the aisle, he caught sight of a side door cracking open. A tall male figure with a flash of yellow on his shoulder dashed in, closing the door quietly behind him and taking a seat to the far right of the church. Tracey bit back a smile. It looked like Ash had come through.

xxx

Later that evening Tracey, Celia, and all their friends held a large reception party at Pewter's brand new community center. Glad that the wedding was over, the newlyweds relaxed visibly and thoroughly enjoyed the party. Excusing herself from Tracey's side, Celia went over to talk with Erika, Jessie, and Misty for a minute. Tracey found Brock – who had given Aya over reluctantly to a babysitter – Gary, and James helping themselves to the open bar.

"So, Tracey," Brock said, pouring his new in-law a drink, "I guess this means we're related now, huh?"

Tracey smiled. "I always wanted a family." He looked over at Frita, Gwen and Zach, all of whom had recovered from their wartime hardships with incredible swiftness. "I don't think I could have gotten a better one."

Brock shifted feet. "Take care of her, okay?"

"You know I will," Tracey assured him.

Gary snickered. "No one'd ever guess that the both of you were about to pee your pants earlier today. See? Marriage isn't so bad after all."

"So says the bachelor," James said.

"So says the _other _bachelor," Gary shot right back. "And would you and Jess just get married already? I'm sick of getting blinded by that engagement rock your girl's been wearing since we got back from Indigo."

James pressed a hand to his chin as if seriously considering Gary's demand. "Hm, you've got a point there. Okay!" He snapped his fingers. "How about August fifteenth, then? Is that day good for everyone?"

Tracey almost choked on his drink. "Sh-shouldn't you ask _Jessie _about this first?"

He shrugged. "She'll be fine with anything. To tell the truth, she's been wanting to, quote, 'just get it over with,' for a while now, but I've been holding off. I didn't want to get married while the war was still going on, or in the middle of that awful lawsuit. If we're going to make it official, then I want to make sure that it's a day when we both have absolutely nothing to worry about." He grinned. "And as of four days ago, Jess and I have absolutely nothing to worry about. So, August fifteenth. Is that good for everyone?"

Brock and Tracey both shook their heads.

"You two are so _weird_…"

"Can't you do _anything_ the normal way for once?"

Gary just laughed. "'Get it over with,' huh? That sounds about like Jess. You'd better make sure _she_ doesn't have anything on her schedule for the fifteenth, otherwise you might be short a bride for this little ceremony." He shrugged. "Well, at least I know I won't have to worry about _you_ freaking out on me. You and Jess have been living together for so long you're practically married already."

"I'm not making any promises," James told him. "Which is why _this_ bachelor isn't going to start teasing the married men." Brock and Tracey both thanked him heartily for this small favor. "And besides," he added with a grin, "whether I'm a nervous wreck or not, I can just about guarantee that _you'll_ be just as much of a mess as Brock or Tracey on _your_ wedding day."

"And who says _I'm_ getting married, huh?" Gary objected.

"Erika, if you know what's good for you," they all responded as one, and Gary couldn't help but laugh.

Ash untangled himself from a gaggle of guests and walked slowly up to the group, a sleepy Pikachu riding once again in his customary place on his shoulder. "Sorry I showed up late. I had to dash out of a meeting to make it, but I wasn't about to miss one wedding when I'd worked so hard to go to the other one."

"Don't worry about it," Tracey told him. "How's that Kanto Ambassador work going?"

Ash forced a smile. "Well, I get to travel a lot." He snatched a miniature sandwich from a tray on the snack table, popping it into his mouth and muttering around the bread, "But I've signed so many peace treaties in the last two years that I'd be glad never to see my own name again. I just finished up the final one. It was tough to get Quiana to accept the treaty, but we made them see reason. That's where I flew in from." He rubbed a tired eye, stifling a yawn in the process. "Unfortunately, it's three o'clock tomorrow morning over there. I hope you don't mind if I duck out of here pretty soon."

"Not at all." Tracey looked past Ash to a big, paneled window at the far side of the hall just in time to see a woman's figure flit past. "Uh, would you guys excuse me for a minute? I'll be right back."

Tracey set his empty glass on a table, striding across the floor purposefully and walking out the door as if heading for the bathroom. Instead, he went outside and around the side of the building, hoping he could catch the female silhouette before it vanished for good.

xxx

Jessie, Celia, Erika, and Misty were chatting amiably, sharing news and gossip.

"Hey Jess, I kept meaning to ask, how did that thing with Jessebelle turn out?" Misty wondered, sipping her drink.

"Really well," Jessie said. "Naturally James got all the land and money back, though it's more than I think we'll ever need in our lives. He was really good to Jessebelle, too. It turns out her parents gave everything they owned to her older brother, so without James she was basically living on the streets. He went ahead and let her keep the land. She could sell it for a lot of money, and we weren't interested in living in that huge mansion anyway." She munched on a carrot stick, recalling the past year's flurry of events. "He's a lot nicer than I am, you know – I was all for teaching the little brat the meaning of a hard-earned dollar."

Erika chuckled. "You're both so lucky. You'll never have to work a day in your life."

"It's nice to have that to fall back on," Jessie admitted, "but James plans on going back to school eventually, and I'd really like to try my hand at opening a beauty salon – or maybe even get into fashion design." The other young women "Wow"'d appreciatively. "Right now, though, we're just trying to get settled in to our new life, enjoying the peace after that lawsuit." She looked towards her fiancée, smiling at his relaxed back. "And you know, for the first time, I think both of us are really and truly happy."

"I'm really glad for both of you," Misty said with a smile. "Oh, but where are you living now, if James got rid of the house?"

Jessie waved a hand. "An apartment in Viridian. It's only until we find a house to buy, or a plot of land to build on. We were thinking about building one right outside of Pewter, actually. It seems like a great place to raise a family, and we both want to be near friends."

"Oh, that'd be great!" Celia cried. "I've really missed my man-watching partner, you know."

Jessie laughed. "We're looking forward to making the move. I mean, the apartment's nice and all, but it's much too small for three people to live comfortably." She paused. "Well, four, if you count Meowth."

"Four?" Misty repeated. Her eyes widened. "Wait. Does that mean that you're...?"

She nodded, eyes alight with happiness, but before the three other women could squeal their excitement she pressed a finger to her lips. "Shh! You can congratulate me all you want, but you've got to keep it down. I only found out a week ago, and I haven't mentioned it to James yet."

Jessie fought to stifle her giggles as the others all obediently squealed in whispers. As their happy cries died down, Celia nudged her in the shoulder. "So why exactly _doesn't_ James know about this little bundle of joy yet, hm? This better not be a milkman baby, Miss Smitt."

"Oh, _please_," Jessie said, shoving playfully back at her friend. "You know it's nothing as dramatic as that. I was just trying to think of the best way to tell him, is all."

"Best way to tell him?" Celia repeated incredulously. She laughed and grabbed Jessie's shoulders, steering her over towards the cluster of young men by the snack tables. "It doesn't matter _how_ you tell him, just as long as you tell him _soon_!"

"I can't do it _now_," Jessie protested, trying unsuccessfully to dig her heels into the ground. "I'm not about to show up you and Tracey on your big day, Cel—"

"You really think I _care_?"

"Well..."

"Wait," Misty said suddenly, stepping in front of Jessie. "I have a very important question, and I want you to answer me honestly." She glared at the former Rocket carefully. "Do you plan to get married before or after you have the baby?"

"It doesn't really matter to me," Jessie admitted. "But I guess I'd say 'before.' It's probably a little easier that way."

Misty grinned, grabbing Jessie by the arms and tugging her forward even as Celia joyfully pushed from behind. "Then it that case, you _have _to tell him now."

"What? _Why_?"

"Because," Celia explained, "Misty and I have had the most perfect wedding dress picked out for you for the past two years, and you've got to be not-pregnant enough to still be able to wear it! So get over there and _tell_ him already, so _he _can be ecstatic and the two of you can get hitched already!"

"We'll tell him for you if you don't do it yourself," Misty threatened.

"I think you should just do what they say," Erika advised with a smile.

Jessie let herself be shoved over to the other group, feigning annoyance but laughing all the while. "Oh, all right, all right, I'll tell him, but I'm only doing it so I don't hurt the wedding dress' feelings, okay? Now would you _please_ stop _shoving _me already?"

xxx

Tracey turned the corner of the community center and almost ran straight into the dark figure he'd been chasing. He took a few steps back and met her eyes, but if she was surprised to see him, she gave no sign of it. She simply greeted him with a nod and a calm, "Hello."

"Mariko," he greeted with a smile. "I _knew_ you'd show up. You were at Brock and Misty's wedding too, weren't you, but you stayed hidden that time?"

The bounty hunter nodded. "I have taken it upon myself to keep an eye on you and your companions. I've checked up on you from time to time these past two years. It's been rather interesting to watch how your lives have unfolded." She smiled with her eyes, leaning against the building. "If television were this intriguing I might consider watching it."

Tracey laughed. "There's nothing better than real life, I guess."

"Indeed," she agreed. After a moment, she asked, "How is the business coming? With you and Brock?"

"Great. We've gotten recommendations from our clients, so it's really starting to take off. It's so rewarding, too, helping people like that," he explained.

"I take it Brock and Misty are enjoying life with their daughter?"

"And already talking about having another one," Tracey said with a laugh. "I get the feeling they're going to wait on it, though. Misty's been staying at home to take care of Aya, but I have a hard time seeing her as a housewife. I'm sure she'll go on a career rampage once Aya's a little older, just like the rest of us have been doing."

"Speaking of career rampages, is Gary doing well?"

Tracey chuckled. "With the world's fastest-earned doctorate in hand, he's out to change the world, assuming he can drag himself away from Erika for two seconds. Oh, and good news," he added, shifting his weight to his other foot as he said it, "he's building his lab on the outskirts of Pewter. It'll be nice to have him in the area again; I think I've even missed his weird sense of humor these past couple years."

"And Ash?"

"Flying around Nomekop working out peace treaties and acting as Kanto's ambassador, along with battling Indigo League challengers in the spring. He complains about it, but I think he's secretly happy to have such an important job to do." He chuckled. "You should see him when he talks about those endangered Pokemon protection organizations he's been working to form, or the humanitarian foundations. It's like he's ten again. You'd never guess he'd been so cynical just a couple years ago."

"That _is_ good to hear," she agreed. Mariko hesitated, then asked, "And… how are Jessie and James?"

"Filthy rich and loving it, from what I understand. But with all the things that have happened to them, they definitely deserve a little peace of mind." Tracey rubbed the back of his head. "You want me to bring James out here? I know it's been a while, and you guys were pretty close."

Mariko's hardened face flashed with tenderness, and in that split second Tracey finally understood why she had left their camp so early, and why she had seemed so sad on those last few days with them. It was gone in a moment, leaving only the usual blank expression, but her eyes still held a faint flicker of loneliness. She looked past Tracey and into the large window. "No. I think it may be best that he forget about me and his assassin days."

Tracey followed her gaze. James was talking to the other young men, smiling about some unknown joke. Jessie, followed by Celia, Misty, and Erika, walked over and slipped an arm around James' waist, whispering something in his ear. His face broke into a wide grin and he wrapped his arms around her, practically lifting her off the floor as he planted a long kiss on her lips. The other men's mouths moved in a flurry of curiosity, but when James responded their faces all broke into smiles. Brock, Gary and Ash clapped James appreciatively on the back, toasting his unknown announcement.

Tracey smiled, though he found that his was touched with a hint of sadness. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."

When he turned around, Mariko had disappeared, leaving only a package to show she had ever been there at all. Tracey picked up the present, unwrapping it slowly and opening the lid. It was a beautifully carved case with a set of gold-gilded writing tools glittering within. Inside the case, along with the utensils, was a red desert flower. He smiled quietly to himself. "A Mariko."

xxx

Tracey walked back into the reception hall a few moments later. He had left the gift tucked away in his car, but the memory of Mariko's presence still lingered with him, leaving a thoughtful frown on his face. Misty tapped her foot as he walked up to them. "And where have you been?"

"Just talking to a shy, old friend," Tracey explained simply. He noticed that Jessie and James were practically glued at the hip, both smiling widely. "What did I miss?"

Jessie gave him the news. "I hated to make the announcement at your own reception, but Celia said you wouldn't mind—"

"I don't," he interrupted. "And I'm happy for the both of you."

James squeezed Jessie's hand and she leaned in against him. Watching them, Tracey thought that he didn't know if he'd ever seen two people look so perfectly blissful - and he was _including_ himself and Celia in that statement.

_'I'm sorry, Mariko,' _he thought, though even as he thought it he could feel his previous melancholy slipping away, _'but I really _am_ happy for them. I want them to go on being as happy as they are right now, and for them to do that, I really believe that they need each other. So I think this was the best ending for everyone involved. And even though it hurts, I think that you understand that too, don't you?'_

Somewhere, he thought he could hear Mariko snorting at him. _"Don't be a fool. Of _course_ I understand that. Why else do you think I disappeared so swiftly from his life?__"_

Tracey smiled at the imagined voice. Yeah. Mariko would be all right, too. Given time, she'd find her own form of happiness, just like the rest of them had. He truly believed that.

Ash covered another yawn and nudged Brock. "Do you think you could get the customary toast over with? I hate to sound rude, but I'm practically asleep on my feet and it's not really proper etiquette to leave the reception yet."

Brock nodded. He stood up on a chair, waiting for the rest of the party members to quiet down. He held up his glass. "I'd like to thank all of you for coming out to celebrate my sister Celia and my friend Tracey's wedding. I know that, since the war ended two years ago, we've all been scrambling to rebuild our lives and our homes, but somehow you pulled yourselves away to have a good time.

"First off, I'd like to say that I don't know what it'll be like when my daughter gets married, but I can't imagine that it could be any more nerve-racking than this. You've got one of the best girls in the world, Trace, and a cook whose skills surpass even mine. And Celia, Tracey's a great guy, and a great friend. Just don't try to keep any secrets from him, because he'll know you're lying the minute you open your mouth." There was scattered laughter, as most of the guests knew Tracey well and were sure Brock was right. "I'd also like to thank Tracey for leaving his headband at home, even though I know it'll be the first thing he puts on tomorrow morning." The artist blushed, shrugging his agreement. Celia hid a laugh behind her hand.

Brock continued. "I know this is typically the part where I would ask everyone to take a moment of silence to remember the ones the war took from us, but I'm going to change this part of the ceremonies around a little bit. Though it's true that we should never forget the past, we can't dwell there forever either. Change comes with looking ahead, and the only way we'll repair the damage done is by moving forward, not back." He cleared his throat. "So, I'd like to propose a toast. To the newlywed couple: may they spend their years together in happiness. To our planet Nomekop: let it rebuild itself quickly and better than ever. And last, but certainly not least – to our children, and their children after that, and on into the future: may they never experience war, violence, or despair. May their vision never be clouded with prejudice and hatred, and may they lead our society to the brightest future it could possibly hope to have."

Not a single person didn't drink to that.

* * *

**Author's Note: 10/14/08**

You know, now that I'm here, I'm (gasp!) at a loss for any witty closing remarks. Thank you so much to all the readers, both the ones who read the old version and the ones who popped in and picked up the edit. I truly appreciate your support, and I especially appreciate all of the reviews. I loved hearing from all of you! I encourage everyone to write in on this last chapter and let me know what you thought of the story, good _and_ bad thoughts alike, and I'd be more than happy to answer any questions you might have through a PM or an e-mail as well.

Beyond that, it looks like I'm out of things to say! I hope you all enjoyed reading this little PokeFic as much as I enjoyed writing it, and with luck I'll hear from you all again in another fanfic project someday!

Thanks again!

Sincerely – Dee

Original: 07/01  
Edit: 10/08


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